


The Perfect Man For Sherlock Holmes

by LadyGlinda



Series: Mylock-Tales (with supportive John Watson) [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Sherlock, Fluff, Humor, John Watson is a very good friend, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-The Final Problem, Protective Sherlock, Sibling Incest, Smut, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-31 07:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13970142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: After Sherrinford, Mycroft avoids his brother but then a delicate case brings him to Baker Street where he meets his brother once more in nothing but a bedsheet. All at once he's confronted with forbidden desires he had refused to realise before. Sherlock on the other hand doesn't want to be alone anymore. And John Watson turns out to be the man of the hour, seeing what Sherlock is missing and Mycroft desperately needs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletmanuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This was meant to be a short one-shot but it ended at about 23K words so I divided it into five chapters. This was also meant to be fluffy and funny, inspired by the famous bedsheet-scene from Scandal in Belgravia (fuck off, Irene), where Mycroft glances at Sherlock's butt without a doubt. There is fluff and fun for sure and a very cute John Watson. But I can promise you a killer ending *sniggers* 
> 
> I might come back to this universe at some point if I have some good ideas. Let me know if you have any! :) 
> 
> Please take your time and drop me a comment or two. That would be lovely! :)
> 
> Oh, and if you read my other fic "You are mental!" - this might be one of the stories that are mentioned in the end of that fic :)

“Oh, hello Mycroft. Long time no see.”

In fact Mycroft had not visited Baker Street once since it had been rebuilt a couple of weeks ago. Or seen Sherlock or his again-flatmate after he had joined his parents in listening to Sherlock playing the violin with Eurus once…

He gave John an indifferent smile. “Good morning, Doctor Watson. Is my brother around as well by any chance?”

“Please,” the doctor said with a tilted head. “After all that happened, you can really call me John.”

“Fine, _John_ ,” Mycroft said, trying to be polite. He figured that after the incidents in Sherrinford, John might think that Mycroft secretly liked him. He didn’t. “And?”

“Come in,” the ex-soldier urged him and then shouted into the flat: “Sherlock! Your brother is here!” He turned his head back to Mycroft. “He came home late so he's not up yet.”

Mycroft glanced at his watch pointedly. It was half past ten. His brother wasn't a bloody teenager anymore.

He had just stepped into the flat when Sherlock's bedroom door opened up. The first thing Mycroft saw was the back of his brother's throat including his quivering _uvula_ when Sherlock yawned so widely that someone could have shoved a toaster into his mouth. The second thing was that he was wrapped in a white sheet again. It brought back memories Mycroft only wanted to forget. “Really, Sherlock? All this expensive private school education for nothing?”

Sherlock shot him an eye-rolling look. “What do you want so early in the morning?” His hair was a mess he certainly couldn’t get through with a comb and his face was pale and swollen. Long night indeed… Mycroft should probably still have him monitored but he had dropped this since Sherrinford.

Mycroft sighed. “Very early, yes. Do you welcome your clients in nothing but a bedsheet as well?”

This brought him a nasty grin. “How do you know that I'm naked under this?”

“Aren't you always?” Mycroft shot back.

Sherlock shrugged which made the sheet partly slide from his shoulders, revealing some more pale, smooth skin. “Yes, sure. I always sleep naked.”

“I didn’t need to know that.” Mycroft sounded prude and tight-arsed to his own ears and he cursed himself for letting Sherlock provoke him once more. “Anyway.  The kingdom needs your assistance.”

Sherlock made an indecent noise with his tongue. “And your own people can't deal with whatever stupid stuff you're going to come up with why?”

“Because nobody may know about it. Like last time” Mycroft said through gritted teeth. “Can you get dressed? Please?”

Sherlock shrugged in a way that made Mycroft want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. He noticed once more that his little brother had become very broad in said shoulders over the past months and guessed that it was probably not a good idea to take to physical punishment. Not that he really wanted that... When Sherlock started to talk he thought that he might want to overthink this… “I'm not in the mood and it's not as if we were in Buckingham Palace where your dear friend Harry could admonish me. I'm at home and you woke me up! If you have a problem with my clothing, just leave!” His gaze bored into Mycroft's and when the older brother just sighed and made no attempt to go, he went on talking with an annoying, smug grin. “So what is this time? Some more blackmailing prostitutes that like to play boring games with one of the princesses?”

Mycroft was rather surprised about the contempt in his voice. Hadn't Sherlock fallen for Adler's games? Hadn't he given her top-secret information in order to impress her? He had dropped her in it in the end but only to save her useless life afterwards. Of course Mycroft had known that. He had always known where Sherlock was, especially if he left the country. He had not liked that at all. Not because this woman had still been a danger, she hadn't been. But somehow he had not liked the thought that Sherlock was still under her spell. Not that it mattered but…

He shook these thoughts off and answered Sherlock's question. “No, as a matter of fact, it's about a member of the House of Lords. Lord Alfred Hamershon. He got compromised. You need to talk to a few people and convince them to keep their mouths shut. We will deal with the lord ourselves.” He finally sat down on this bloody client's chair while Sherlock and John took place in their armchairs.

Sherlock listened to his explanations about the involvement of this dignified older man in illegal gambling matters with an expression of utter boredom. “And you couldn't just mail me about this because…?” he eventually interrupted Mycroft in his usual impolite way.

“Because this must stay a secret, Sherlock! No exchange via texting or emails, please! Just in person!”

Sherlock shook his head and rolled his eyes, and the urge to shake him – or even better _slap him_ in his arrogant face – became surprisingly strong. “Fine. If I can serve queen and country with it, no matter how dubious this subject is. Not that I would do that half as perfectly as you do,” he said with an exasperated sigh. Then he got up. “I'm going back to bed now.” He gave Mycroft an exaggerated wave with his right hand and turned to leave the room, the damn sheet whirling around him like his coat.

Mycroft knew it was childish and inappropriate and revengeful and beneath him, but he just had to do it. He stepped on the Godforsaken sheet once more. Only that this time it didn't just slip from Sherlock's body – it got tangled in his legs and he stumbled over it. The clever detective had not seen that coming…

And in the moment he fell over, he spread his now naked legs and bent over to cover his fall, and Mycroft, who had inexplicably looked at the bare butt the dropping sheet was revealing, caught a glimpse of a dark crack and pale-pink, hairless balls.

And he got hard. Rock-hard…

It all happened so fast that he didn’t even have time to be shocked. With a shake of his head, John stepped to Sherlock and helped him up. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Sherlock hissed and shot Mycroft a glare out of narrowed eyes. “Thank you, brother!” He wrapped the sheet around his slim waist with a dramatic gesture.

“Sorry…” Mycroft mumbled, internally begging _don't look down, don't look down_ , and Sherlock stared at him with an open mouth. Well, he had not apologised to him very often in his life… Even though it had probably still been more often than Sherlock had asked him for forgiveness…

“Yeah. See you then.” And with this Sherlock walked away, throwing a confused look over his shoulder though gratefully not below Mycroft's waist…

Mycroft stared at the doorframe he had disappeared through, his cock getting limp again.

What exactly had just happened?

He desired his little brother. That was all.

He buried his face in his hands.

“You okay, Mycroft?”

He had totally forgotten about the doctor. “I'm fine,” he mumbled and then he left the flat.

On the stairs he almost ran into Mrs Hudson.

“Oh, Mr Holmes, watch out!” She had saved the tray she was carrying from falling onto the steps in the last second.

“I'm sorry,” he brought out, earning another look full of disbelief. Before she could answer anything, he ran down the stairs as fast as he could.

He needed to forget this incident and the view of his brother's butt crack and testicles as soon as possible…

*****

Sherlock pulled the blanket up to his chin again. He was in the darkest mood he'd been in for quite some time. He was pissed off, frustrated and strangely sad.

He had spent half the night with getting a sex partner.

All those years since he'd grown up he had shuddered at the thought of getting physically close to someone. An embrace from his mother or a dry kiss on Molly’s cheek had been the most he could endure. Dealing with Janine's kisses (with tightly closed lips on his side) had already been a tough challenge. Sex had been unthinkable.

And then he had almost died when his sister had blown up his flat. That night he'd had sex for the first time in his life. To be at the edge of death had set something free in him even though he couldn’t explain why. He had been close to dying before but it had never affected him in this way.

A random man in a club, no kissing, no unnecessary touching, not pleasing the stranger but having please him; it had been over extremely quickly.

He had felt so torn afterwards. After not even having a wet dream in his life or ever masturbating, his very first orgasm had been overwhelming. He had hidden it from his partner he hadn't even known the name of but he had stored all those foreign, disturbing, wonderful feelings in his mind palace. They had been in the other man's flat and Sherlock had gotten dressed and left as soon as he had recovered from this mind-blowing experience, feeling confused, dazed and shaken. He had forgotten the man at once but he had known he wanted to do this again.

Two days later they had gone to Sherrinford, and since then Sherlock had met three other men in the same way. Quick sex, no exchange of names (Sherlock had gone out, looking completely different to how he usually did with jeans, sweatshirt and back-combed hair full of styling gel), no promises to meet again.

But last night he had not gone with anybody. There had been good-looking men in the club, men who had paid attention to him, flirting with him, but somehow Sherlock had felt low and depressed.

He wanted more. All of a sudden, the _“Alone is what I have, alone protects me”-_ detective wanted someone who meant more to him than rough, fast sex.

But where should he find him? He had even considered men (and of course it had to be a man) he knew. John, the first choice. Straight but perhaps not a hundred percent. But Sherlock didn’t seriously thought of choosing him. They were the best of friends - well, they were on the way to be that again after the tough months that lay behind them. But John was just not sexy. And he was, well, _small_ … In every sense of the word.

And Sherlock had discovered in his encounters that he did like his men well-hung and tall like he was. Lestrade? He was hardly shorter than Sherlock in height. But his appendage was even smaller than John's… In the case of _the_ _man who drowned twice_ , the detective inspector had gone into the water and had needed to change clothes so Sherlock had seen his so-not-impressive little man (very fitting description in this case…). And he was too old anyway.

Who else then? Anderson? Sherlock had become sick at the thought of it. In fact every other man he knew was not to his liking either – too old and fat (Angelo) or too boring (Dimmock). And most of them didn’t have interest in other men anyway… And these were the people Sherlock trusted to some extent. How should he ever trust a stranger? He could deduce people in many aspects, yes, but in any emotional way, he still sucked at it. What if they only wanted the famous detective, not him as a person? Would he be able to distinguish that in his emotional inexperience?

But Sherlock knew this was not the real problem. The problem was that he didn’t want any stranger. Something in him kept him from opening up to other people. He had no idea why…

With a sigh he rolled out of his bed. He hadn't been able to find back into sleep after his annoying brother had shown up and had stepped on his sheet again, making him fall this time. Bastard! Why did he always have to be like that! Giving him something that didn’t even resemble a case and then make him fall onto his knees. At least Sherlock had gotten his revenge by showing him his naked arse… Perhaps his brother had even liked the view… Sherlock shook his head. No, not really…

He wondered why he hadn't told Mycroft to piss off with this stupid demand. But… Mycroft had been so decent and… unexpected in Sherrinford. Offering his life in exchange for John's. What a gesture from somebody who claimed to despise all other people, all _goldfishes_. Not that it had changed anything about their relationship in the long run. They had not even met after it other than to inform their parents about Eurus. And once Mycroft had come to Sherrinford with him and the older Holmeses. But they had not spoken a private word with each other. It was like it always had been – no sentiments, _“caring is not an advantage”_ and all this crap. Nothing had changed.

Sherlock had to find himself a boyfriend who would allow him to be sentimental. Somewhere out there had to be someone who was worth giving him his heart. He just had to find him.

When he had gotten showered and dressed, he joined John in the living room. The doctor was playing with Rosie on the carpet. He looked up when Sherlock came to him to let himself drop into his chair. “No luck in going back to sleep?”

John had such a talent for stating the obvious. “As you can see - not really.”

“Listen, Sherlock… Did you notice anything strange about your brother's behaviour earlier?”

Sherlock snorted. “You’re kidding me, right?”

The doctor smiled wryly. “No, I mean… Apart from his usual… Never mind…”

Sherlock blanked him out. Somehow he had the suspicion he would meet someone important today. Mycroft would mock him with his premonition if he knew it. But Sherlock was rather sure all at once. Today was the day!

*****

“Sorry, I mean… Usually… Sorry…” The young man gave him a sheepish smile and slowly released Mycroft's dick out of his useless grip. The long, limp appendage dropped sadly between the politician's legs.

Mycroft would have loved to disappear in a hole in the ground. The deepest one he could find. At least he didn’t have to give cash to the escort-man as he had paid with his secret credit card online beforehand. “It's fine; it's not your fault. I guess… you should better leave.”

“I can try again with my mouth!” Sasha (or whatever his real name was) sounded really unhappy and eager to make up for his failure (that of course wasn’t _his_ failure).

Mycroft groaned. Silently. “No, it's alright. Have a nice evening.” He forced a smile onto his face and gave the boy a dismissive look. The last thing he wanted now was to see and feel anyone chew on his soft dick any more.

Sasha nodded, looking deeply sad, and started to dress again. Within two minutes, he was ready to go. He surprised Mycroft by brushing a kiss on his cheek. Then he left with a mumbled _“Goodbye”._

Mycroft lay down on his bed after switching off the light, feeling completely desperate. What a nightmare of a day this had been… Probably the worst day of his life, and he was thinking that after Sherrinford…

At first the indecent, completely unacceptable reaction to his brother's naked butt. Then he had gotten into a row with Lady Smallwood as he had not been able to listen to her explanations about some important matter as all he could think of was his brother's naked butt (and not to forget his low-hanging, round, hairless balls). And then he'd made this appointment, giving his preferred escort service a call. A young man with a smooth body and dark hair he had requested… And Sasha had been exactly as required – handsome, black-haired and no body hair, and he had been kind and sweet and it had not worked at all.

Mycroft's dick had never betrayed him like this. He didn’t have sex regularly but every few months, he used to meet a man who was paid to take him up the arse and blow him, and it had worked fine every time. And today he had gotten a huge erection when he had seen more of his brother than he should have ever done, and when he had tried to erase this scandalous reaction by having sex with a _not quite appropriate-_ but at least not biologically related partner, it had been a disaster.

He had not reacted in the least when Sasha had stroked his cock. Then he had closed his eyes and seen his brother in his mind and had gotten stiff. But as soon as he had remembered how completely out of place his thoughts and feelings about Sherlock were and that it was _not_ Sherlock he was with, he had gotten limp again, and nothing had been able to make his dick stand up again. He was too young for erectile dysfunction! And he was Mycroft Holmes, the British Government! He could in no way fancy his own brother!

But he did… And he realised only now that he had done so for ages.

He had always appreciated Sherlock's unusual great looks. His sparkling eyes that changed their colour all the time. His pert little nose. The plush, sensuous lips. These impossible cheekbones. The long, elegant neck. His thick, shiny hair. The flawless skin. His long-limbed, slim figure, nowadays more muscular but simply perfect. The wonderful long fingers. Sherlock was perfect. And this was just his outside! He wouldn’t even begin to describe his impressive brain and his decency and his loyalty. Okay, not necessarily towards Mycroft himself…

And that was the most important of Mycroft's problems… Even if he was willing to risk his reputation, his career and his freedom for a completely unspeakable incestuous relationship with Sherlock – his brother despised him, mocked him all the time and would rather jump off St. Bart's for real than allowing Mycroft to touch him…

Yet – there had been Sherrinford… Sherlock had not shot him and he had looked at him for the first time since ages as if he did feel something for Mycroft. But even if he really did, it could have only been brotherly affection.

It was hopeless… Mycroft had to forget this at once. But now he had involved Sherlock in this forsaken case and had to meet him until Sherlock had done his job. But Mycroft could as well use this to get over his sick feelings. He would confront his forbidden desires with the reality each and every day now, would steel himself so he would never think of Sherlock in this way again and could go on with his life.

With this encouraging thought, he cuddled into the pillows. Everything would be fine…

*****

“Do you think he liked me?” Sherlock asked John when they entered 221B late this night.

“Who?”

Sherlock sighed. “This new DI. Matt Cranshaw!”

“You know what – I think it's strange that you never managed to remember Greg's name but you have no problem to call a man you just met by his first name! Not even I recalled that it's Matt.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Do you now?”

“Um, I don't know! Why are you asking?” John switched on the light in the living room. Rosie was sleeping downstairs in Mrs Hudson's flat and would stay there for the night. “Oh God… you are interested in him? Sexually?”

An annoying flush shot into Sherlock's cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Wow. Oh fuck, that's why you stay away half the night now! You're looking for a man!”

“And what if? I'm thirty-seven. I didn’t want to be a virgin anymore.” Sherlock let himself drop into his chair.

John did the same. “And… did you do it already?”

“How indiscreet of you. Yes.”

“Oh, wow. And how was it?” John's eyes were sparking with interest.

Sherlock shrugged. “Nice, sometimes. I do like to… come…” He had not done all that much with his “partners”. They had sucked him off and he had fucked two of them. He definitely liked to touch a big dick though…

John shook his head in awe. “Who would have thought. So you are really gay?”

“Of course I am. I told you from the start.”

“Well, not really, no. You just said girlfriends were not your area…”

“I think that was clear enough. Do you have a problem with it?” The thought had hit Sherlock suddenly.

“No! Of course not! I told you back then it would be fine if you had a boyfriend!” John poured both of them a drink. “It's just so unexpected. Why now?”

Sherlock took a sip of the nicely burning brandy. “It was after the explosion. I realised I could have died and never experienced how it is.”

John nodded. “I see. You're sure that's all?”

“What else should it be?”

“Oh, nothing…” John shot him a strange look. “So… what's your type then?”

“Not you!”

John laughed. “Oh, that was mean. Too small for you?”

Sherlock blushed. “Um, yes. Among other things.”

“I'm devastated.” John poured down half of his drink. “What kind of men do you like then? Tall, dark and handsome?”

“I guess that sums it up. But add _big dick_ and _body hair_.”

The doctor laughed again. “So not me or Lestrade. But you don't know if Matt has a big one. He's tall and dark-haired, yes, and I think I saw some hair poking out of his collar.”

“You did pay a lot of attention to him for a straight man,” Sherlock stated. “And he did have a pretty big bulge.”

“Fuck… I'll have to get used to you talking like this.” John grinned. “I like that! Thank God you're not straight so we are not rivals in getting female attention.”

“Believe me – I could do without _any_ female attention… Like Molly's. She should have gotten that I didn't mean this _I love you_!”

“Well, yes. Of course she should. But she's always been crazy for you. Hearing these words from you, even though she forced you to say them, must have confused her even more. But she'll get over it.”

“Yes, and then find the next gay boyfriend… You should marry her!”

“What, me?!”

“Yes! She loves Rosie, you're both pretty smart and work together a lot, you're even both doctors!”

John sighed. “Love doesn't work like this, Sherlock. You will find out.”

“Yeah, I guess I will. I want a boyfriend, John. Very quickly.”

“And you think it could be the inspector? Well, I'm sure he'll have a case for you soon again. But don't be too disappointed if it doesn't work out. And… maybe there is… No. Never mind.” John stood up. “I'm going to bed now. And Sherlock – you know you can always count on me. If you need someone to talk to - I'm here. I'll probably suck at giving you advice considering sex with men as I've never had any but you can always speak with me about everything. There's nothing too weird or unusual that I wouldn’t listen.”

Sherlock was very touched. “Thank you, John. I really appreciate that.” He stood up as well. It was time to go to bed. It had been a long and busy day with taking care of the first guy from Mycroft's “case” and then solving a murder case for Lestrade and Matt.

Perhaps Matt would be the one!

Sherlock hoped it. Very much…

*****

“Oh, morning, Mycroft.”

John Watson didn’t look surprised like he had done the morning before. Mycroft cleared his throat. “I just want to hear about the progress you and Sherlock have made since yesterday.”

“Of course you do. Come in!”

Had there be a hint of mockery in the doctor's voice? Mycroft eyed him closely but as usual, John just smiled friendly at him. Mycroft could deduce everybody but somehow he had never quite known what was going on in John's mind.

“Sherlock is still sleeping as it is, you know, not even eight o'clock…”

“Yes, well, I needed to drop by before my first meeting,” Mycroft explained.

John nodded. “I totally understand. Well, I wrote it down for you. Our… _conversation_ with your first witness.”

Mycroft looked at the piece of paper the blond handed him. Damn! “Well, that was very considerate of you.” He tried to not sound disappointed.

“But I'm sure you want to hear Sherlock's opinion about this man and if he's going to keep quiet,” John continued.

Mycroft nodded. “Oh yes, that would be helpful.”

“Oh, I think I heard something from Sherlock's room. Just go in there.”

“What?”

“Well, he's your brother. He won't mind.”

 _Since when?!_ Again Mycroft bored his gaze into John's to earn another one of these helpful, innocent smiles. “Alright then. If you think he'll be okay with it.” Of course Mycroft knew very well that Sherlock wouldn't be. But if John urged him to enter his brother's bedroom, it wasn't his fault, was it?

He stalked to the end of the corridor and knocked. There was silence on the other side. He turned around to John who had followed him. The shorter man gave him an encouraging wave of his hand. “Just go in. He never locks his door.”

After taking a deep breath, Mycroft entered Sherlock's bedroom. He had never been in this room before. And he stopped dead when he caught in the sight. Sherlock was soundly asleep, lying on the sheets in full, naked glory. His legs were even spread, giving Mycroft a perfect view on his genitals. His long, thick dick, almost the same size as Mycroft's, was pretty plump and his rosy, hairless balls looked taut and round.

Mycroft's trousers became way too tight in an instant. He was well aware of John's presence so he didn’t dare turn around to flee. But what if Sherlock woke up now? He would not miss Mycroft's state this time… He tried to force his erection away. Images of Lady Smallwood in one of her too-short skirts flashed through his mind and then the fat arse of the PM, bent over his desk. It didn’t help…

“Hey, Sherlock! Mycroft is here!” John's loud voice startled him and this did the deed. Mycroft's pride shrunk in his pants. He sighed in relief and swore he wouldn’t look at his brother's private parts again.

“Mm?” Sherlock made, still with closed eyes. His black hair was a ruffled mess, his face sleep-swollen. “What?”

“Mycroft wants to hear about our progress in the case,” John explained patiently.

Finally Sherlock opened his eyes and stretched his long body. Then he sat up and rested on his hands. “Fuck, Mycroft! It's in the middle of the night! And John wrote it all down!”

Mycroft, still heroically avoiding staring at Sherlock's crotch, looked into his brother's tired but furious eyes. “I very much appreciate that. But I need to hear it directly from you as well.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “And it's nearly eight so hardly the middle of the night.”

Sherlock sighed deeply in his disturbingly erotic baritone. “God, if I must… Get out now. I want to shower before and dress in my sheet so you can step on it and make me fall on my face again!”

John chuckled behind Mycroft and the politician gave him a glare, which didn’t help at all. John's grin got even wider…

“Very well,” Mycroft said, feeling strangely exhausted before his work day had even begun. “I'm waiting in the living room.”

“I'll make tea,” the doctor said.

“Really?” Mycroft and Sherlock asked simultaneously.

“Of course. Come, Mycroft. Let His Majesty get ready for you.”

Now this had sounded strange… But still Mycroft could only see politeness in John's face. He nodded and left his brother to his morning hygiene.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a move on Lestrade's new colleague. John Watson is not happy and decides that something has to be done.

“That was… amazing! How did you _know_ that?!”

Sherlock smiled, feeling flattered, but then he frowned when he noticed how John was rolling his eyes. He chose to ignore it and turned his back to his partner, facing DI Matt Cranshaw, new to Lestrade's division and currently working side-by-side with the silver-haired man to learn everything about the job which couldn’t be too much. “It was easy,” he said in a tone that hopefully sounded modest. They were standing on an almost empty street in Whitechapel where Sherlock just had solved a murder case. A man had been strangled and put into a dark corner without his head. Easiest thing in the world. Plain as day.

“But how?”

Sherlock had a sudden idea. “I could explain it to you at dinner today,” he suggested. Behind him he heard Lestrade gasp and didn’t even want to know how John was looking now. It wasn't really fair, was it? He had told John he was interested in Matt!

The dark-haired man with the green eyes blushed. And then he nodded. “Yes, that sounds good. When and where?”

Sherlock thought about that before he suggested meeting at seven-thirty in a nice, small Italian restaurant (not Angelo's!).

The inspector agreed and then apologised when his phone rang. Sherlock could feel Lestrade stepping closer to him from behind. “You seriously want to _date_ my colleague?” he asked in a tone full of disbelief.

“Any problems with that? He's gay; I sensed that at once. He doesn't wear a ring so he might be single. He's good looking and albeit not the brightest bulb in the box like all you normal people, he seems to be interesting enough to give it a try,” Sherlock mumbled.

“But… I thought you don't do such things!”

“He changed his mind,” John threw in, but he didn’t sound too happy.

Sherlock turned around to him and studied his face. No, he wasn't overjoyed that Sherlock had made a move on Matt. But why? He clearly didn’t want Sherlock for himself, and he certainly had no interest in the policeman. So what was his problem? “Don't worry, John. I'll still be living in Baker Street with you,” he said then, realising that John probably feared to lose him as a friend.

“Wow, you are not even together!” Lestrade protested.

Matt was still talking into his phone and therefore distracted.

“But we will be soon. But that won't change anything between us, John!” Sherlock assured his friend.

John bit his lip. “I know, it's just… Anyway… Let's see how it goes between you two first. Can we go then? The case is solved.”

“In a second.” Sherlock waited until Matt had finally finished his call. Then he offered him his hand which the green-eyed man took after a second.

He gave Sherlock a rather shy smile. “Thanks so much again,” he said. “We'd have been lost without you. And your partner of course.”

“Oh, he's just a friend and a work partner,” Sherlock hurried to assure him. “I live with him and his daughter but we are not a couple.”

“Yes, I know. Well, see you later then.” He smiled and Sherlock was sure he was looking forward to meeting him.

“Yes. And it will be just you and me,” Sherlock made clear.

“Fine. Bye then.”

Sherlock watched him and Lestrade walk off the crime scene.

“Come on, Sherlock. I need to pick up Rosie and I want to go home.” John sounded more than a bit impatient.

“What's wrong with you, John?”

The doctor gave him a wry smile. “Nothing, Sherlock. I just think you're too eager. He might just not be the right man for you. I don't want you to get hurt. And I think that… Never mind.”

“You know – I'm fed up with this _never mind_. Why don't you just say what you really think?!”

“Not now, Sherlock. Let's go.” He turned around and started to walk away quickly.

Sherlock followed him, grumbling and pissed off about the lack of John's support. But then he thought of the evening and his mood lightened up. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Matt!

*****

“Your tea, sir.”

Mycroft winced so hard that he threw the folder that was lying on the desk before him onto the ground. With flushing cheeks he hurried to grab the papers.

“I'm sorry. I knocked but you didn’t hear me,” Anthea said apologetically.

“No problem,” Mycroft mumbled. He had so much to do and yet he had been sitting there for hours, staring against the wall, thinking about Sherlock, his thoughts running wild in endless circles, trying to further analyse his reactions towards his little brother.

He had not even really listened to Sherlock's explanations this morning. His brother had told him the conclusions John had written down with a bored, annoyed voice but Mycroft had hardly noticed. He had been too busy staring at Sherlock's beautiful, extraordinary lips, at the cheekbones that moved when he was talking, and these incredible eyes, this time more green than blue, and he had wondered if he had been blind all this time. He had noticed Sherlock's good looks but not gotten how much they turned him on. Or had he secretly always fancied his little brother? Even when Sherlock had been a child? He had only now allowed himself to think that.

But no. He was sure he hadn't. His desire had come on silent feet over the past years. He remembered the day Sherlock had returned from Serbia. It was only now that he realised how much he had indeed enjoyed seeing Sherlock in chains. Not because he had been tied and helpless and hurt, definitely not, but because his upper body had been naked…

But of course – it had started way earlier. Buckingham Palace. Sherlock's naked arse… He had looked at it even then but then he had suppressed his inappropriate interest in his brother's bottom and pushed his misguided feelings away, later not even realising how jealous he had been of Irene Adler, which he could see clearly now. Now he couldn’t ignore his feelings anymore. Since he had seen his crack and his balls, he had been constantly thinking about his brother in the most scandalous way. But of course this was not all.

He didn’t only _desire_ Sherlock. Despite his brother's behaviour towards him, he was in love with him. Of course he was. How could anyone _not_ love him? His cleverness, his beauty, his caring side? And Sherlock had shown this side to Mycroft in Sherrinford, no matter how nasty he had behaved the last two days. These nerve-wrecking but emotional moments they had endured together had been the final catalyst. He had obviously subconsciously realised how much Sherlock meant to him there, and that's why he had stayed away from him afterwards. Because Sherlock had shown that he cared about him as well – but not in this way. He had even sent Lestrade to look after Mycroft on this forsaken day! Of course Mycroft had told the DI that he was fine and could very well look after himself. But now he realised that it had hurt him that Sherlock hadn't come himself, which had been another reason for keeping his distance afterwards.

No, Sherlock didn’t want him and would never do. They would never be together. And Mycroft should better forget his wrong desires very quickly.

But he knew he couldn’t…

He picked up his mug and took a sip from the tea. It was strong and good but Mycroft wished it was a glass of whiskey instead…

He was so doomed… He loved the only man in the world who wasn’t a goldfish and who he considered his intellectual (and unfortunately also emotional) equal, and it was the one man he could never have…

*****

Sherlock stopped with his long explanations and looked at the DI expectantly. His green eyes seemed to be a little dazed. They were sitting in a homely little restaurant with good food and low prices and not overly loud Italian music as a background noise.

Matt Cranshaw cleared his throat. “That was fascinating. Like you are… I mean, I didn’t really understand it but it sounds so impressive.”

Sherlock beamed at him. They had finished their tasty dinner (pasta with a simple but delicious tomato sauce for both of them), talking about today's nasty murder and other cases Sherlock had solved for Lestrade. “Tell me something about you,” he demanded, remembering what he had heard in one of the dull movies John sometimes forced him to watch with him. They had to be good for something…

Matt used his tissue and smiled shyly. “Um, I have two sisters, both married with kids, and my parents live in Spain now.”

“What do you do in your spare time?” Sherlock had dragged this question out of the deepest depths of his mind.

“Oh, I go to the gym.”

It showed. Matt had massive arms and legs and a really attractive body as far as Sherlock could see. He was shaped and tanned and had a very nice butt that would certainly look very good if he was on all fours on the bed in front him. “And?”

Matt shrugged. “That's about it. I do work a lot and I need something to calm me down afterwards. What do you do?”

“If I don't solve cases, which is not limited to a normal work day, I read and make experiments of all sorts and I buy drugs to heighten my thought-process.” He didn’t mention he used to visit his sister in a high-security prison frequently.

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Um, you're sure you should tell that a policeman?”

Sherlock winced. But then he relaxed. “You're not on duty now.”

“No, that's right.” Matt scratched his dimpled chin.

“So, are we clear then?” Sherlock asked, leaning forward.

“That I won't arrest you? Sure.” Matt gave him a really pretty smile.

“No! That we are boyfriends now.”

“What?” Matt stared at him, his mouth open.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “We went out for dinner, we know a lot about each other, we are together now, aren’t we?”

“But…”

“You are gay, aren't you?” Of course he was. Even an idiot would have deduced that.

“Yes, I am. And you are absolutely gorgeous!”

“Well, so are you. Do you like to get fucked?”

Matt had taken a sip of his wine with a shaking hand and almost choked on it now. “Sorry… Um, Sherlock… Are you in love with me?” He nervously played with his tissue and shuffled on his chair.

“No. I just met you yesterday.” That was a bit ridiculous, wasn't it? And still Matt's next words hit him like a punch.

“Then why do you think we are boyfriends now? I mean… We know almost nothing about each other. And from what I _do_ know about you now, I don't really think we have anything in common. Not the things that count. To be honest – you are so much more intelligent than I am that we could come from different planets. And to answer your question – yes, of course I love sex. I don't know any man who doesn't. And I do bottom. So… we can do that if you don't think it affects our working together.”

Sherlock slumped down in his chair. He was so stupid… An intellectual giant but still completely fucked up in every emotional way. How could he have thought he and Matt would make a good couple? And if he was honest to himself, he didn’t even feel drawn to the man. Physically, yes, but certainly not in any other way. He was a policeman who went to the gym if he wasn't at work. How exactly should they fit? He was a _goldfish_ …

“I'm sorry,” Matt said and laid his hand on Sherlock's arm.

He shook his head. “No, _I'm_ sorry. I was so eager to find a boyfriend. I mean – you can't live up to my intellect in the least and we wouldn't have anything to talk about.” He guessed that lovers did talk to each other from time to time. They couldn’t have sex all the time!

Matt's expression was a bit sour now but he nodded. “I guess that's true. Shall we forget about this all and return to just solving cases together?”

“You mean you asking me for help because you can't do your job alone? Yes, it might be the best.” Sherlock stood up and threw a few banknotes on the table. “Bye then.”

“Bye.”

He sounded rather pissed off now but Sherlock didn’t care. He grabbed his coat and headed out to go home to Baker Street.

He felt depressed and sad. He would stay alone forever, never finding a man who was all he longed for – very high intelligence, various interests, charisma, humour, good looks (the tall, dark and handsome kind), a big or better huge dick and a furry chest Sherlock could bury his face in. He realised that he was looking for Mr Perfect, and he didn’t exist.

*****

John was sitting in his arm chair, reading a novel, when Sherlock stalked into 221B, feeling down, pissed off and angry about himself, not even mentioning hopeless. His flatmate looked up and seemed to sense at once that things had not gone the way Sherlock had naively wished for.

To Sherlock's relief, he spared him any senseless remarks like _“Oh, you're back early! So he wasn't Mr Right?”_ Instead he stood up while Sherlock was slipping out of his Belstaff, throwing it on his chair, and moved over to the couch. “Come here, Sherlock,” he said, patting on the space next to him. “Let's talk about it.”

“Don't want to,” Sherlock mumbled. “I'm such an idiot.”

“Yes you are. But you are a very smart idiot and you're my best friend and you can talk to me – I told you and I meant it.”

Sherlock shrugged and then he took his shoes off and sat down on the couch. He yelped when John grabbed his shoulder and urged him to lay his head down on a pillow he had just placed on his lap. “John, what…”

“Relax.” John held him in an iron grip until Sherlock had slumped down, his legs on the couch. “Good boy.”

Sherlock sent him a glare and John grinned and tousled his hair. “Now speak with the Uncle Doctor.”

Sherlock sighed. “It was awful. He's so dumb and dull. And I was stupid enough to ask him if we were boyfriends now.”

“Oh wow. After what – having dinner?”

“Yes. I don't know shit about all this relationship stuff. But even if we had spent more time together – it wouldn’t have worked. There is nobody for me, John. I want it all now that I decided I want a man. He must be handsome and tall and hung and sexy. But most of all, he must be as smart as I am. And there is nobody out there who matches these criteria. I’ll be alone forever…”

John cleared his throat. “Perhaps… You know… You might even already know the perfect person for you…”

Sherlock tensed. “John, I told you that you're not my type! You're smarter than most but…”

“No, Sherlock. I didn’t talk about me. Perhaps it's someone you would never consider - because of a reason, yes. Maybe several reasons…”

Finally Sherlock understood. “You're kidding me, right?! You can't seriously think that I would do that!” He looked up to the doctor's face with narrowed eyes.

“Why not? You need to be open to…”

“I know I told her that I love her but I didn’t mean it! She's just a friend!”

John gave him a confused look before he vehemently shook his head. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean _Molly_!”

“So whom _did_ you mean?!”

John sighed, apparently reluctant to tell Sherlock about his ground-breaking conclusion concerning the perfect candidate… And then he sighed again when a distant whining came from Rosie's room. “I gotta go looking after her.”

Sherlock got up so John could stand. “What shall I do now? It's half past eight… I can't go to bed and I don't want to make an experiment or watch telly…” And he didn’t want to talk about his _feelings_ with John anymore either… It didn’t lead anywhere…

John looked over his shoulder. “Um, why don't you go over to your brother so he won't have to show up early in the morning? Tell him about our progress?”

Sherlock grimaced but then he shrugged. “Yes, why not. At least I can sleep longer then. Not that I would have to as I won't be in bed late tonight…”

“Just do it, Sherlock. And… do me a favour – be a bit nicer to him for a change. He seemed a bit down lately.”

Since when did John care about Mycroft? And had his brother been sad? Sherlock hadn't noticed. But he nodded. “I'll try my best. But you know him… He drives me mental.”

“I guess that's mutual. But perhaps… Never mind.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not that again! He grabbed his coat and the piece of paper on which John had noted today's _interrogation_ , and then he left 221B.

*****

Mycroft had come home pretty early on this day. No point in going on sitting around and staring into nothingness. He had done that even in a meeting with the PM which had upset his boss a tiny bit. So he had asked for the driver to bring him to his house.

He had showered and shaved as he always did. Then he had eaten two sandwiches as always. And now he was sitting next to his fireplace with a drink and continued to stare into nothingness.

Was this all? Was this really his life? He had a very challenging, very important occupation, yes. But besides this, he didn’t have anything. Not that this was anything new. He had never even thought about it. He'd had Sherlock to worry about, Eurus to contain (not that this had worked so well…).

And now Eurus was more secured than ever and he was in love with Sherlock, even leading to him getting impotent with other men…

He leaned his head back against the soft cushions of the chair. Why Sherlock of all men?

Well, who else… Who else could live up to Mycroft's intellect, who else was as fascinating, interesting and challenging as his little brother was? Nobody. Mycroft, the _Iceman_ , had never been in love in his life, and that it was Sherlock now was devastating, ironic, not even mentioning against the law and yet completely logical.

He sighed. Logic wouldn’t help in this case. Nothing would help. He took another sip of his drink. Getting pissed wouldn't help either but at least it would make him forget his misery for the rest of the day. And he would go over later to Baker Street the next day. He had seen everything of Sherlock now and it hadn't made anything better or easier. How stupid to expect that anyway… It had only made him desire him even more… He wanted Sherlock so badly. Take him, be taken by him, taste him, love him… Oh God…

He almost dropped his glass when his phone signalised a text. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and froze when he saw it was from John Watson.

_Hi Mycroft. Are you at home? JW_

Oh dear! Was anything wrong with Sherlock?

_John. Yes, I am. Why? MH_

_Don’t ask now, just do what I tell you. Sherlock is on his way to you for the case. I told him to visit you instead of you coming over tomorrow morning. Make sure you don’t wear too many clothes and don’t tell him that I texted you. JW_

Mycroft stared at the display in complete disbelief, feeling his cheeks flush. Oh God… John had noticed it. But then – it had been very naïve to believe he wouldn’t… The doctor was not an idiot…

He had to play dumb now!

_Are you out of your mind?! MH_

_What did I just say about doing what I told you? You won’t regret it. I hope… Are you hairy by the way? JW_

_Hairy… Well, yes… MH_

_Somehow I knew it. JW_

Mycroft was shaken to the core. What was this all about? But it seemed that playing dumb was not really an option…

_How did you find out? MH_

_Please… Your looks at him in Sherrinford? Your reaction to his nudity the last two days? Just to mention the obvious stuff. Hard to miss… JW_

_Does he know it, too? MH_

He waited with bated breath for John's reply.

_No. He is a tad blind towards it. JW_

Mycroft slumped down in his chair again. Of course Sherlock didn’t know. Or care…

_Probably because it's forbidden and he doesn’t have any interest in me to begin with… MH_

_Sherlock doesn’t give a fuck for anything being forbidden as you very well know. And that’s not true. He just hasn’t realised it yet. Help him. Be nice… I’m off now and he will be ringing your doorbell very soon. Good luck. JW_

_Why? Why do you do that? I thought you despised me, too? MH_

_Because I know there is only one match in this world for Sherlock. He is looking for someone super smart, attractive and simply unique. Well. It's a description of you even though he didn’t get it so far. And I bet it is the same for you. And Sherlock doesn’t despise you. And I don’t either. Bye now. JW_

Mycroft was more stunned than he had ever been.

_Thank you. MH_

_Thank me when everything worked out fine. And I know – if not, nobody will find my body… JW_

_Very true. MH_

Mycroft was stunned. And shit-scared… He shot up from his chair. He had to change clothes!

*****

"Oh, hello Sherlock! What brings you here?" Mycroft asked, trying to sound surprised, delighted and composed even though his heart was beating way faster than it could be healthy. He had absolutely no idea how to deal with this situation...

He could literally see Sherlock's jaw drop when his eyes moved from his face to his chest and then deeper. Mycroft felt very self-conscious and right-out silly in the very tight jeans (brand new as he had never dared wear them, always wondering why he had bought them in the first place) and his dark-red coloured shirt, almost completely unbuttoned, revealing his more than a little hairy chest.

Sherlock forced his gaze away from Mycroft's crotch (and the jeans stressed the considerable bulge very nicely). "Um, I... John said... The case..."

He was stammering… _Sherlock_ was stammering… "Oh, how nice. Do come in!" Mycroft smiled at him and then turned to lead the way. He heard the door close and then Sherlock's steps behind him, and he could actually _feel_ Sherlock's stare on his arse that was also well accentuated by the tight denim. Finally his time on the treadmill was paying out... Or was he just completely out of his mind?

"Care for a drink?" he asked Sherlock when they had reached the living room.

Sherlock, his cheeks flushed, nodded while he was fumbling with his coat. "Yes, that would... be nice."

Mycroft wondered if Sherlock had ever spoken to him like this. So... kindly... But that still didn't have to mean anything. "Would you like something to eat?"

"Never mind," Sherlock mumbled, his eyes dazed as if he was thoroughly thinking of something. It was clear that he wasn't answering Mycroft's question. "Fuck..."

"Sorry?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Thanks. Had dinner with... someone." He blushed even more.

"You had a _date_?" Mycroft burst out without thinking. He would strangle John Watson! How could he...!

He had made a complete fool out of himself, dressing up like the prototype of a gay man searching for sex... His cheeks were burning and he would have loved to run out of his own house.

Sherlock looked down on his shoes. "Yes but it wasn't... good. Too dull... and... I left then..."

"Oh." Mycroft felt ashamed for his sudden relief. He should wish Sherlock to get happy with someone appropriate... Someone who wasn't so closely related to him...

Then he hurried to provide his brother with a glass of brandy and they sat down in two opposite arm chairs. He could see Sherlock was deep in his thoughts, very obviously trying to cope with the situation, apparently remembering a conversation he'd had. Probably with John Watson...

"So, will you see him again?" Mycroft broke the silence.

"Huh?"

"This man you dated." If it had been a man at all...

"Yes," Sherlock said and Mycroft bit his lip. “He works in Lestrade's division and perhaps he'll still need me to help him solving his cases. If he still wants that after I more or less called him an idiot..." Mycroft couldn't help but grinning. Sherlock shot him a surprised look before he grinned as well and then shrugged. "I guess I've never been good with them either. Humans, you know."

"I see. It's not so easy to find someone you can consider... your equal." Mycroft winced when Sherlock looked into his eyes fiercely now, suddenly calm and very focused.

"I don't know," he slowly said. "Perhaps it's not so difficult after all." They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. Then Sherlock cleared his throat. "I... like your outfit. Suits you."

Mycroft blushed. "Thank you. It's not what I usually wear." That was a stupid thing to say… Sherlock knew very well what he usually wore…

Sherlock nodded, his gaze never leaving Mycroft's eyes. "John told you I'm coming." It was not a question.

There was not much worth in denying it even though John had asked him for not mentioning it. "Yes. He said I shouldn't wear too many clothes." Mycroft had thought about putting on his training outfit but had thought it would have been too... naked...

Sherlock shook his head and grinned. He still looked as if he couldn't believe this was happening. Whatever it was that was happening. "He told me. Not with direct words but now it is very clear what he meant."

"That we are the best match for each other." Mycroft felt braver now.

"Yes. And that you came to us so early this morning was because..."

"I wanted to see you naked," Mycroft admitted bluntly. "I wanted... to steel myself against my feelings for you." He didn’t know why it was so easy to speak it out all at once. Probably because Sherlock didn’t seem to be opposed to it. But could that really be? Sherlock… should really want him…?

"Did it work?" There was an unmistakable smirk in Sherlock's eyes.

"Not at all. It just... made it worse."

"Is it bad then?" The tease in his voice…

"It should be. There are laws against this sort of love." He had said it. This word...

Sherlock snorted. "Because we could produce some sick offspring?"

"It's stupid, I agree. But we'd have to be very careful."

"Goldfishes. They don't get anything. Well – except for John."

"I still can't believe he played matchmaker for us..." It was the very last action he would have expected from the doctor who had always treated him with disrespect and sassiness.

Sherlock shook his head, obviously rather upset that John had gotten something that he had missed. "Me neither. But... this did work, didn't it?"

"Yes, I surely think so." As unbelievable as it was.

"Can we... sit on the couch?"

"Of course." Mycroft stood up and Sherlock followed him to the black leather sofa where they both took a seat. A bit of distance was still between them. But it was a distance that could easily be closed...


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock's heart was hammering like it had never done before. The epiphany he'd just had had been enough to make his brain have a short circuit.

The strangest part was that he wasn't feeling confused or terrified. In fact he was amazed, upset about himself, stunned, excited, scared, full of expectation and having more feelings than he could name. How could John have gotten it and he hadn't?

It was so logical. He had found his equal and it had been right before his eyes all his life.

If he looked at his brother in a distant, objective way, he couldn’t help but admitting that Mycroft was all he had searched for in a man – or perhaps he had searched this all in a man because his brother was like this and his subconscious had always known that Mycroft was the one for him... He was taller than him. He had a very handsome face with these blue eyes and the sinful lips. Very obviously he didn’t only have a hairy chest but also a very big dick. He had a lot of charisma, and even though he was not necessarily a funny man, he had not always been as dead serious as he had been the past about twenty years. As a teenager and young man, he had, though being introverted, very well been able to sometimes make jokes and laugh, and Sherlock couldn’t wait to find out if this side of him was still there somewhere, hidden beneath his stiff behaviour and his non-stop admonishing of Sherlock to behave. Sherlock had the strong feeling he wouldn’t do that anymore now… And of course – Mycroft was the only man except for the late Jim Moriarty that Sherlock considered his intellectual match. Actually Mycroft was probably smarter than him, just like he had claimed all the time. He was the total package.

Of course he was also Sherlock's brother. So what? Of course nobody (except for John, obviously) might find out about their soon-to-happen new relationship. That was a given. Especially not their parents, Lestrade and Matt Cranshaw, Molly, Donovan or Mrs Hudson or old Lady Smallwood or the PM. Nobody. It would be a disaster. But their combined brain power should be enough to ensure that nobody would get aware of the sudden change in their relationship.

Still it was a strange concept to imagine Mycroft in a sexual way or even see him as a sexual human being. Sherlock was rather sure Mycroft had made some experiences even though they had of course never spoken about it.

Sherlock wasn't a virgin anymore but his own experiences ended with getting blowjobs, touching another man's dick or butt and take him. He had never given head or taken it up the arse…

And he had never seriously kissed anyone but he wanted nothing more than this now. His heartbeat was dangerously fast and he was so afraid but still he knew that his search for the _right one_ was over and he wanted to get a kiss from him.

So he shuffled over to his brother, who was smiling at him, definitely feeling equally insecure, and wrapped one arm around his neck.

Mycroft understood at once and bent over so his soft, dry lips touched Sherlock's.

Sherlock saw stars the moment their lips met. He had always despised this sort of sentimentality, thinking it was silly and dumb and dull.

But it wasn't. Kissing his brother made his heart thump even harder and let goosebumps appear on his back, not even mentioning making his cock hard at once. He enjoyed the pressure of Mycroft's still closed mouth, returning it eagerly. He felt Mycroft's hand on his cheek, warm and strong, and he felt safe… Mycroft was the man he had looked for and Sherlock could be a hundred percent sure that his older brother would never break his heart.

And then he cringed, thinking of his “date”. How could he have been so stupid to believe that he and Matt were _boyfriends_? He had felt nothing for this man. And he felt so much for Mycroft. He almost got sick when he thought that without John's interference, he would definitely not be in this situation now and would have possibly agreed on a relationship with the wrong man eventually. Because every man except for Mycroft would have been wrong…

Mycroft pulled back after Sherlock's reaction and for a moment Sherlock saw panic in his eyes. Then his expression softened when he seemed to understand that Sherlock's sudden discomfort had nothing to do with him and the kiss. “Are you alright?” he asked nevertheless. The tenderness in his voice was almost killing Sherlock. Why… Why now? Why had they wasted so many years with behaving like enemies? They could have had _this_ for so long…

“Yes,” he assured him. And then he embraced him with both arms and crashed their lips together, his tongue demanding entrance. Mycroft chuckled against his mouth but returned the kiss passionately. It was wet and strange and clumsy (and it became clear to Sherlock that his brother didn’t have any more experience in French kissing than he had which was none at all) but Sherlock loved it. His left hand slid over Mycroft's shoulders and into his almost completely open shirt. Of course Sherlock had known that his brother was a lot more hirsute than he was (and God had he been stupid…) but he had never touched his bare chest. It was warm and the hair was tickling his palm and Sherlock moaned into Mycroft's mouth.

Mycroft chuckled again. “Like it?” he mumbled.

“Yes, very much. Fuck, Mycroft. How could we be so stupid?”

“Good question.” Mycroft explained to him what he had figured out about his reactions towards him in Buckingham Palace and Sherrinford and the day before in Baker Street.

Sherlock shook his head. “And we thought we were so smart…”

“To be fair – it's not the easiest thing to consider…”

That was true of course. They had spent their childhood together. They shared the same genes. They were brothers. The conclusion that they were meant to be even more for each other was not that easy to draw.

Sherlock winced again. Mycroft was his brother, yes. And yet – what did they really know about each other? The thought was as disturbing as it was depressing.

But it was true. They were strangers to some extent.

When Sherlock had grown up, Mycroft had been away already, making his way, gaining more and more power, estranging from him more and more.

Sherlock was well aware that his body cried to be intimate with Mycroft. His brother was goddamn sexy, especially in these clothes. Actually his slim suits showed a lot of his figure as well which he should have been aware of for a long time. Sherlock had continued to mock him with his weight but in fact Mycroft was in the best of shape and certainly still worked out pretty often.

Sherlock wanted to have sex with him. But more than this he wanted to know this man. Really know him, make a connection beyond the physical side. And that he hadn't even thought about doing that with anyone else before showed how important it was.

He pulled back a little even though he would have loved to explore Mycroft's body a lot more. “Mycroft… Would you mind if we… went at this rather slowly? I want you, want everything, but I mean… not only do I have very limited experience as I only started to do a few things with men after the explosion in 221B but I think we should know each other better before. And don't say this was stupid because we're brothers. We've long ceased to really know what the other one is about.”

Mycroft smiled and stroked his cheek. “I know what you mean. And of course we will do that. I want to really know you, too, and I can't even say how much I like it that you want that as well. I hope we can do _a bit_ though…”

“Oh yes.” They kissed again and Sherlock enjoyed Mycroft's fast breathing and his obvious arousal. He was very excited as well and close to forgetting about _slow_ and _careful_ and just ripping off Mycroft's hot jeans…

Then Mycroft pulled back. “And regarding being not really experienced… I only ever took men or made them blow me… And you might have realised I didn’t use to kiss anybody…”

“Oh, great. So did I… All of that…”

Both of them rolled their eyes – not about each other but about themselves. Could it be any more obvious? They had waited for this, waited to share the real intimacy with the one that mattered. And it could only be them for one another.

*****

Mycroft shuddered when their lips met again. He urged Sherlock to straddle his lap, both moaning when their erections grinded against each other through their trousers. He couldn’t help but grabbing Sherlock's butt, finally getting his hands on this plush, seductive arse even though it was still covered with too much fabric now.

But no matter how much Mycroft wanted to wrap his brother out of his clothes like the most precious gift he could imagine, he not only respected but adored Sherlock's wish to get to know him better before they would do it all. Who would have thought Sherlock would want that? It was a miracle. A miracle he owed to John Watson…

Sherlock seemed to have the same thought as he suddenly fumbled for his phone in his shirt pocket. “Just a second,” he said.

Mycroft smiled. “John?”

“Yes. I owe him to let him know that his cunning plan worked out.”

“Absolutely.”

Sherlock sent a text and then switched off his phone. Mycroft hurried to do the same. He really didn’t want to be disturbed now.

“I'm surprised you are doing that,” Sherlock said.

Mycroft shrugged. “I won't be able to do it every time. But now… I really don't want to get a call from a hysterical PM who can't find his own arse.”

Sherlock laughed. “Nasty. And funny. I knew it.”

Mycroft smiled. “Well… Where were we?”

Sherlock kissed him fiercely once more and Mycroft smiled full of gratitude. His hands started to explore the slim but very muscular body on his lap a bit more, eventually sliding under Sherlock's shirt, feeling the smooth, warm skin over a prominent spine. They were both as hard as a man could get and Mycroft wondered how they should deal with that. He hadn't done a lot with other men before but for Sherlock he would do anything – suck him to the end, lick his entrance and allow him to fuck him. Everything. But for the moment nothing of this was possible.

“Do you want us to get off? Or save it for later?” he asked Sherlock.

The detective smiled wryly. “I'm so close to coming into my pants that the latter is probably not an option, at least not for me.”

Oh, Mycroft saw joyful times on the horizon… “Alright then. Shall I lend you a hand?”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock whispered breathily. He looked down on Mycroft's hand when the older man unzipped his trousers and worked the hard and deliciously leaking boner out of its confinements.

Mycroft knew he would never forget the moment when his hands wrapped around the silky skin for the first time. He stared at the long, pink penis with the wide, red head in awe when Sherlock mumbled:

“Yours too, please. I want to see it and touch it…”

Mycroft hurried to free himself and then wrapped his hand around both boners, joined by Sherlock's right hand. They moved their fingers up and down, and amazingly enough, they both came after exactly six strokes, and Sherlock's deep moans made Mycroft shoot even harder. His brother had so many treats and his voice wasn’t the least of it. It was simply pure sex…

It was a huge mess, both of them - along with their trousers and the couch - covered in come, but Mycroft simply loved it. He asked Sherlock to hand him the box of tissues from a shelf next to the couch, and they cleaned each other up.

“Would you like to stay for the night?” Mycroft asked his brother pretty shyly then. “You can sleep here as long as you want tomorrow morning; nobody will disturb you.”

Sherlock smiled at him in a way he wouldn't have thought he would ever see directed at him. “I would love to. Um… your bed isn’t as old-fashioned as the rest of the house, is it?”

Mycroft laughed. “No. It's new actually and very comfortable. And big enough for both of us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have minded it being small…”

Very joyful times indeed…

*****

“Here's a towel or do you need more?”

Sherlock smiled and took the big, fluffy towel from Mycroft's hands. “No, that's fine. But you could join me – your shower has enough space for both of our sexy, slim bodies.” Mycroft's upstairs bathroom, directly next to his bedroom, was also very modern. Everything was white and clean and generous.

Mycroft kissed his cheek. “Next time. I want to prepare the bedroom a bit and I will shower after you then.” After another kiss, this time on the mouth, he left Sherlock alone.

It was still hard to believe that this was happening… Sherlock felt the urge to reach out to someone who would believe it. The only one he could tell about it… He took out his phone and texted John again.

_I'm in the bathroom now. I'll stay over with him tonight. Fuck, thank you again! SH_

_Oh, that's great! I was a bit scared beforehand. Can you imagine what he would have done to me if you hadn't reacted like this?  JW_

_You should have told me straight away! SH_

_I'm not sure at all you would have wanted to hear it! You needed to figure it out yourself. Have fun tonight… JW_

_We won't do too much. We did get off with our hands already. I suggested taking our time. SH_

_Great! You as the voice of reason! Who would have thought! JW_

_Careful! SH_

_Lol. Seriously. I'm happy for you. It's crazy and forbidden but it's right for you. Because, you know… JW_

_Yeah, I know! I owe you a lot… SH_

_No, you don't. So does he have a big dick? I asked him if he was hairy but I didn’t really dare ask him that… JW_

_Gigantic… SH_

_Oh wow… Hope he'll be gentle when you get there… You know a lot of people would love to rip you a new one but… JW_

_John! And you know he will be… He's a caretaker, not a molester… At least if it comes to me… SH_

_Quite literally. Seriously – I'm happy for both of you. See you tomorrow then? JW_

_Of course. He'll go to work, I'll come home. Bye. And thanks… SH_

_No worries. Have a good time and give him a kiss from me. JW_

_In your dreams… SH_

_Yeah, better not. JW_

Sherlock switched off his phone again with a wide grin, and then he got ready for washing off the stains of their first naughty play.

*****

Mycroft hurried to slip under the blanket with the fresh linen. After his quick but thorough shower, he had only put on his pyjama pants, not bothering with a shirt. This was rewarded by a hungry look in Sherlock's eyes and caused his little brother to bury his face in the fur on his chest as soon as Mycroft was lying next to him.

Mycroft smiled when Sherlock moaned against him. “Like it, brother dear? My personal jungle?”

“Mmm,” Sherlock made and then lifted his head. “You could hide mice in there.”

Mycroft burst out laughing. “Well, take a look if there are any then!” He stroked over Sherlock's cheek, feeling the prominent cheekbone under his fingers. They were both looking so unique and so different. Sherlock looked a lot like their mother with a hint of their father but Mycroft resembled Uncle Rudy more than his parents. His thoughts came to a halt for a second. Could that be?! Could perhaps… No. Mycroft was sure they were not half-brothers. Mummy had not liked Father's brother in the least. And Uncle Rudy had certainly not had any interest in women except for looking like one. They had to face the fact that they were as closely related as they could be.

The politician didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if it came out. It simply couldn’t. He would lose everything and both their lives would be destroyed. But he knew that John Watson would never betray Sherlock like this. And nobody else was ever to be told about this secret.

He smiled when Sherlock nuzzled his nose in his black hair again and then gently kissed one of his nipples.

“Will we meet up tomorrow?” Sherlock asked him then, his blue-green eyes full of anticipation and a sentiment Mycroft had never expected to see in them.

“Of course. I'll be tied up most of the day but we could meet for dinner and then come here.”

“Dinner? In a restaurant?” Sherlock sounded amazed but delighted.

“Yes.” Mycroft pulled at Sherlock's arm so his little brother came up to him. “It's a lot better to let everyone know we get along better now. We can bicker around in Mrs Hudson's presence probably, but latest when it comes to our parents, we'll have to tell them part of the truth. Mummy will know if we pretend to be annoyed by each other.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, that's right. Well, we can tell her it happened after Sherrinford. It was a good reason to get closer.”

“Yes. And I'm sorry that it didn’t do for real until today.”

“Oh, Mycroft. If I start with telling you what _I_ am sorry for, we'll be busy all night. Let's face it – you have actually nothing to be sorry for. I was a fucking brat all my life. It's a miracle you are sharing your bed with me now instead of having strangled me decades ago.”

“Now, now, Sherlock. Don't give me more than my heart can take!” Mycroft protested with false amazement.

They grinned at each other. How could that be so easy all at once? All this time they had been more enemies than brothers, and now dealing with each other as not only close brothers but lovers just felt so natural, not only being intimate with each other but being able to joke around. And they had only started an hour ago! Sherlock hadn't even known he was attracted to him before he had come here!

Sherlock pinched his chin. “What? You look a little…”

“Overwhelmed? Yes, I am. I mean, who wouldn’t be? This morning I was a lonesome, hopeless pervert who leered after his naked, gorgeous little brother and now said brother is in my bed, we had sex and will have a lot more of it soon and I'm so happy to have you and of course not only because of the sex and I feel like it's Christmas and birthday in one without any annoying side effects and I got everything I ever wanted.” He shut his mouth with an audible noise.

Sherlock stared at him, speechless for a moment. Then he crushed their mouths together almost painfully hard. Mycroft cupped his face and kissed him deeply and tenderly, and he was breathless when Sherlock pulled back. “Yes, that's what I meant. This is what we have to be able to do with each other.”

“Kissing like there is no tomorrow?” Mycroft asked playfully, knowing what his brother really was about.

Sherlock grinned. “That too. But you know what I mean. Being honest like this. Expressing sentiments.”

“Ooh, you said the bad word.” Mycroft played with one of Sherlock's slightly damp curls. “You are right of course. I'm surprised though that it burst out of me like this.”

“Your sperm?”

Mycroft laughed out loud. “Oh, we're going to have so much fun together, aren't we?”

“Lots and lots,” Sherlock assured him. “But I want you to know that you can tell me everything. Absolutely everything. I want to really know you. Inside out.”

Mycroft opened his mouth but Sherlock put his forefinger on his lips with a low chuckle. “Who would have thought you are so naughty?”

“Oh, I guess we are equals in this way as well,” Mycroft said with a wink. “ _Sperm_?”

Sherlock grinned and kissed his cheek, then his ear. He made a noise that definitely expressed delight in the back of his throat. “You taste so good, brother mine. And I'm sure I'll keep on sniffing at you whenever we meet.”

“Well, as long as it's only John around us…”

Sherlock kissed him. “John asked me to give you a kiss from him.”

“What? Oh. Well. As long as he doesn't want to give me one himself… But I really misjudged your doctor, Sherlock. What he did for us was awesome.”

“Oh yes, and I thanked him thoroughly.” Sherlock pulled the blanket around them tighter. “It's pretty early but perhaps we should go to sleep now. Someone woke me up very early in the morning and it was a really challenging day. And tomorrow will be the same.”

“Yes? Any big plans for tomorrow?”

“Sex. Definitely.”

Mycroft grinned and switched off the light on the nightstand. “I thought you wanted to wait. Know enough about me already?”

“Who said I was talking about you?”

“Well…”

Sherlock snuggled close against his shoulder, letting his hand card through his chest hair once more. “Of course I was. We'll have a nice dinner together and talk some more and get to know each other more, and then we can have a little more sex afterwards. Or can't we?”

“No objections whatsoever.” Mycroft kissed Sherlock's temple. “We will do whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“And you!”

“Oh, Sherlock. In my mind I already did everything with you…”

Sherlock giggled. “And this all because I wore this bloody sheet?”

“I guess so. What do we learn from that?”

“Dressing up properly won't get you anywhere and being not ashamed of your body gets you into the man of your life's pants? Wait… It happened before! Did you… react to it then already?”

Mycroft smiled. “I did but I pushed it away. And I didn’t see that I was so jealous of Adler. I thought it was only because you betrayed the country…”

“Oh. Fuck. I saved her by the way…”

“I know. You'd been under the Secret Service's surveillance for ages.”

“Fuck! But I didn’t do it because I wanted anything from her.”

“I guess I gave you this status because deep inside I wanted _everything_ from you.”

“Well, I can totally live with that.”

“I should hope so. I…” He broke off, feeling his cheeks get warm once more.

Sherlock lifted his head in the dark. “You…?” he asked, sounding tense and yet expectant.

Was it too early? Out of place now? Silly? Sod it – it was true. “I love you, Sherlock.”  His voice was a mere whisper now. He had never said these words to anybody before and he knew he would never say them to anyone else.

“God, Mycroft!”

He smiled when Sherlock captured his mouth in a kiss once more. When they parted, Sherlock brought his mouth as close as possible to his ear and breathed:

“I love you, too.”

Twelve hours earlier Mycroft had been feeling lonely, cold and empty. Now he was as happy as he could get. His arms closed tightly around his brother's body, and he knew he would hold him like this all night.

*****

“God, look at you! Your smile could lighten up London in the darkest night!”

Sherlock grinned. “How very poetic, John.” And then he pulled his flatmate in a clumsy but crushing embrace. He felt John chuckle against his shoulder when the doctor patted his back.

“I guess everything worked out fine after we'd texted?” was mumbled into Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock pulled back. “Oh, John… It's so great. He even told me that he…” He broke off, suddenly feeling shy.

In the morning, Mycroft had been awake before him. Sherlock had finally woken up when Mycroft had kissed his cheek, smelling like shower gel and toothpaste. Sherlock, who'd had a taste like a rotten fish in his mouth, had shyly kissed him with closed lips and then they had just cuddled for a while with Sherlock telling him about the case (which both had forgotten about the night before). They had parted reluctantly – Mycroft had gone off to work and Sherlock had taken a cab home. He already missed him…

John whistled. “Wow! On the first day? But of course he's loved you forever. This just added a bit of spice to this difficult relationship…”

“He's so awesome. How could I not see that all this time?!”

“Well, you were a tad biased. You know – overprotective older brother? Close relative? The ever admonishing British Government? That sort of thing?”

“And how did _you_ see it then?” He tried not to sound embarrassed that John – whom he would never call an imbecile, at least not straight to his face – had seen what _he_ had missed…

They sat down in the living room where Rosie was sitting on a soft blanket on the carpet, playing with her favourite teddy.

“God, Sherlock. You should have seen his reaction when you stumbled over this sheet! He got so hard that I could see the bulge from the side! And when you had walked off, he hid his face in his hands… I thought about it all day. And especially after we had this conversation about your ideal man – it was a description of your brother! I mean – I'm not gay but I do see that he's not ugly and has a lot of charisma. The next morning I urged him to go into your bedroom, just in case I had gotten it wrong. Of course I hadn't…”

“And still you let me go to this date with Matt!”

“Well, you surprised everybody with that! You might recall that I wasn't that happy about it. And I thought – perhaps I'm crazy and there are laws against that and you never liked your brother. That was silly of course… Sherrinford was proof enough that he meant a lot to you. Well… When you came back from your date, so sad and hopeless, I decided to push the both of you. Urge you to go to him, but I didn’t dare tell you straight away what I was thinking. It could have still gone wrong.”

“And you told my brother to dress up like this?” Sherlock grinned.

John grinned back. “Well, I didn’t see him!”

“Oh, he was a sight! An almost completely open shirt and jeans so tight that his huge dick almost let them explode!”

“Oh, fuck. You should have taken a picture for me!”

“I will next time. But… Nobody may know about it.”

John grimaced. “Well, of course not! But you know me, don't you? Trust and friendship and stuff?”

“Of course I trust you.” And he did. He knew John would never give them away.

They shared a smile and then John took a sip from his tea. “So… Did you do any more after our texting?”

“No. We cuddled and talked and fell asleep early. In the morning I finally told him about our conversation with Fretty O. yesterday.”

“Oh, right. His case. Who's next on our schedule?”

Sherlock grinned. “You do like to play the bad guy, threatening other bad guys?”

“Yes. It's like acting.”

“Well, today we will…” The vibration of his phone interrupted him. He took it out to find a text from Mycroft.

_Hello, brother dear. I hope you're fine! Well… You can consider the case closed. The man in question has committed suicide this morning. Not much point in threatening criminals if the target has only a quarter of his head left… MH_

Sherlock grinned.

“Oh, he texted you?”

“Yes. The lord blew his head off,” he said while firing off his reply.

_I guess so. Is that a relief or will it cause you even more hassle? And I am fine and hope you are, too… SH_

John choked on his tea and coughed. “And this is funny because…?” he asked when he was able to speak again.

“Oh, it's not of course. But Mycroft was pretty cynical about it.”

John shook his head. “You two are really the perfect match… So… No more case for big brother then?”

“Our only case is discovering sex together as he hasn't much more experience than I have.” Of course Mycroft had had sex for a lot longer but obviously hadn't done more than him with the faceless guys Sherlock hated for their existence.

“Well, that's a nice one!”

“The best!” Sherlock really couldn’t wait. Couldn't wait to explore his brother in every possible way – emotionally and physically. And he wondered why he had only now really understood how much Mycroft – _The-so-not-Iceman_ – was capable of having emotions, at least when it came to him.

_It's a nightmare… I'll be tied up all day and have a meeting in the evening. But we'll still meet for dinner, albeit not in the small restaurant I had in mind but closer to Whitehall. And you can go over to my house then and wait for me if you like. MH_

Sherlock sighed.

“What? Oh, I see. He'll be very busy now.”

“Yes. But we will still have dinner together. And I hope he won't be too late tonight.” Reality was already taking its toll. Mycroft was a very important man. His job was his priority.

John leaned forward in his chair. “You know what, Sherlock… Don't let that get you. Erase that from the start.”

“What?”

“Being disappointed if he has to change your plans. I mean – I still don't really know what his actual job is but I guess we can agree that it's a very challenging one. Don't give him a hard time for that.”

“I didn’t plan to!”

“No sulking, no pouting!”

“I never sulk or pout!”

John nodded in a very annoying way. “Of course not. Not you! Then don't start with him now. It's not a good idea. You'll need to figure out the dynamics of this relationship but start with accepting that he has a life beside you.”

“I do, too!”

“Yes, of course. But you're way more flexible than him with his government job. If you don't want to take a case, you just tell people. In your usual friendly, compassionate way. Like: _boring_ or _fuck off_.”

Sherlock couldn't help but grinning. “Yes, I see your point. Alright. I'll try not to behave resentful and childish.” Without looking at the phone he typed his reply.

_I'm sorry you have such a hard day. Don't worry about that. We'll do what you think is the best. I'll be there when you return. Not going anywhere! Take care! SH_

“Well, I'm sure Mycroft will appreciate that! Now what?”

“I need to learn more about gay sex asap. My experiences are limited to getting sucked off and fucking guys for two or three minutes.” He was rather sure there were a lot of things he didn’t know yet… And he wanted to do everything with his brother. And mostly he wanted to please him as well as he could.

John chuckled. “That's easy. Watch porn!”

“What?”

“Well – how else did you plan to learn it? By seeing other men again? Or God forbid – practicing with me?!”

“No, of course not. You don't have his dimensions… I thought I could read…”

“Nonsense. Not graphic enough. And boring. Watch porn!”


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft's head was hammering when he finally entered the restaurant, almost twenty minutes after the time he had told Sherlock. He had texted his brother of course to let him know he'd been held up and Sherlock had told him to take it easy and that he wouldn’t go anywhere. But still Mycroft felt very guilty. This was their first real date and he was too late. What a great start…

His heart melted when Sherlock smiled at him. He was sitting at the table already with two glasses of red wine along with a basket full of deliciously smelling bread on it.

“Sorry, Sherlock,” he said and slipped out of his coat. “This day was… awful… And it's not over. Oh, I didn’t mean _this_! Just…”

“It's alright, Mycroft. Just relax for as long as you can. And I'll be waiting in your bed when you come home later.” Sherlock had said it quietly but firmly.

Mycroft took place. “You are really not mad at me?”

“Why would I? It's not your fault. Or your choice. It's simply your job.”

Mycroft shook his head in awe. “Seems I owe John Watson even more than I thought…”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Why do you assume it is because of John's good influence that I'm not pouting and telling you to do better?”

“Because it is.” Mycroft winked and lifted his glass. “Cheers!” He wasn't sure if he should drink alcohol now but one glass would be okay he guessed. And if not – they could kiss his…

“Yes, it is,” Sherlock admitted with a wink of his own. “Cheers!”

They clinked glasses and drank. It was a really good wine and Mycroft started to indeed relax a bit. “Nonetheless I'm sorry, Sherlock. I wanted to spend some time in a nice, intimate restaurant where nobody from work would bump into us.”

“Well, it's not as if people didn’t recognise me more or less everywhere. We can't exactly get tactile in public anyway, no matter where we go.”

“No, certainly not. But still…”

“It's alright. So… The death of the lord was not the end of the affair?”

Mycroft sighed. “Not quite. We have to figure out if more influential people were involved in this ominous gaming matter. It doesn't look like so far but… And the widow is accusing us of having pushed him over the edge.”

“He could have been in jail instead or left to these criminals to deal with him. That wouldn’t have been any more to his liking.”

“I agree. But she's grieving and I can understand her reaction. Thank God their sons are already grown men and can be a support for her. Well… Shall we order our dinner and move on to nicer subjects?”

Sherlock nodded and very briefly touched his hand on the table. “Sure. But if you need help in this case again, just let me know. Or in any other case.”

Mycroft was more touched than he had thought possible. “Thank you, Sherlock. For your understanding, your support and just for being in my life like this now.” It was still not easy for him to say such things. But he assumed he would get used to it very soon. In dealing with his wonderful brother the _Iceman_ would stay far away.

Sherlock's smile was so beautiful that it took his breath away. “Anytime. And always. Not going anywhere, remember?”

Mycroft would have died for kissing him, and it had to show in his eyes.

“Soon, brother mine,” Sherlock mumbled. “Waiter!”

*****

“So, did you have an interesting case today?” Mycroft smiled at Sherlock while cutting his steak. They had spoken about Mycroft's day a little more and Sherlock had watched his brother relax a bit and let his shields down even more, expressing how he had been feeling.

They had never done that before, in all their adult life - talking with each other like adults, full of respect (and Sherlock was the first to admit that he had always been the one lacking exactly this respect for his brother) and genuine interest. It was very nice…

“One or two. But most of the day I watched porn online.”

“What?” Mycroft's mouth was open which looked a tad undignified.

Sherlock smiled. “John's idea. I told him I need to know more about gay sex before we really go at it so I won't mess it up…”

“Oh, Sherlock!” Mycroft smiled back. “We'll discover it all step by step, don't worry. We are both not totally inexperienced. And there's nothing wrong or right. It's our love life and as long as we both end up with a wide smile and empty balls after it, we did it fine.”

Sherlock was in awe about his brother's choice of words. Who would have thought! “You are so fucking sexy, do you know that?”

“Me? Oh, no. _You_ are sexy.”

“So are you! What you just said – the table will start moving up on my side in a second.”

Mycroft blushed. “Sorry.”

“Never say that again!” Sherlock growled. “You can always… Oh fuck…”

“What?” Mycroft sounded alarmed.

“Lady Smallwood is coming over…” Sherlock mumbled with narrowed eyes. His erection had wilted in an instant at this view…

“Oh. Just relax and don't worry. It's fine.” Mycroft didn’t look very happy but rather resigned.

Sherlock didn’t think it was fine but he tried to look calm. He concentrated on his meal while the elderly lady in the too-tight, grey dress came to his brother and started chirping. There was no other word for it. He glanced at her, watching her flushed cheeks and the way she was fumbling with her hair. She wanted Mycroft! How could she dare! Flirt with him so openly in his presence! But then – she thought they were just brothers… But still! Mycroft and this old… bitch?! Of course Mycroft wasn’t showing any interest in her. He smiled at her thinly, more politely than friendly and in no way encouraging her cheekiness. Which didn’t keep her from going on with it…

It took him a lot of effort to not lose his composure and yell at her to fuck off. It got even worse when she turned to him.

“Mr Holmes. I'm glad to hear that you stayed decent since the Magnussen case.” She crinkled her ugly nose.

Arrogant witch! “Well, I didn’t have any ambitions to get sent on a death mission again,” Sherlock mumbled. He didn’t even try to be nice. That would have only made her suspicious…

He regretted this sentence when his brother paled and looked extremely sad all at once. He slipped off his right shoe and stroked over Mycroft's calf soothingly, and Mycroft winced but then gave him a short, shy smile.

Finally he got rid of the lady by reminding her that they would see each other later in the meeting. She clearly didn't like to be sent away which didn’t keep her from waggling her certainly wrinkled arse when she walked off. Mycroft didn’t look at it so it was completely wasted…

“I'm sorry, Sherlock,” he mumbled when she had gone. “We should have gone somewhere else.”

“She wants to get her dirty fingers on your body,” Sherlock couldn’t suppress saying. He didn’t like this. At all…

Mycroft looked even more unhappy. “I know. She's been making moves on me for ages. But what shall I do? I need to work with her.”

“I could tell her that you would rather cut off your dick than sticking it into her…”

“Sherlock!” He had obviously gotten louder than he had wanted and blushed.

Sherlock sighed. “Sorry. I know I can't. You can't either so we'll have to endure her trying to seduce you.” He spat out the last words. John would have shaken him he was sure. But it was not exactly easy to _not_ pout and sulk when somebody tried to take your man away from you… in your presence…

“She will never get me, Sherlock. And… I would have never let you die on your mission. I just…” He broke off.

Sherlock nodded. “You wanted to punish me.”

“Yes. I was so angry at you. Risking this all and sedating me to steal my laptop. Killing Magnussen so he couldn’t harm John and his… wife.”

Sherlock put his cutlery on his still half-filled plate. He wasn’t hungry anymore. Over the past day he had forgotten how much had been between the two of them, had separated them for so long. This had not just disappeared because they were attracted to each other now.

“I'm sorry,” Mycroft said again.

“Well, you have no idea how sorry _I_ am. What I did was unforgivable. I just… didn’t see another way.” He could hardly recall his feelings on this forsaken day but he knew how utterly stupid he had been. He had underestimated Magnussen and he had betrayed his brother. He didn’t care so much about having been willing to betray his country but Mycroft had not deserved what he had done to him…

They both winced when Mycroft's phone vibrated. He looked at the display and sighed.

Sherlock forced himself to smile. “You need to leave?”

“Yes… I wish…”

“I know. Do you still want me to go to your house and wait for you?” It was a mystery to him why Mycroft should want him at all after being such a brat all his life…

“Of course I do! I hope I won't be too late.” Mycroft looked tired and defeated and Sherlock didn’t like that at all.

“It's fine. Just do what you have to do.”

Mycroft paid their bill and then they left the restaurant. Sherlock would hail a cab to go straight to his brother's house. He had a key.

They couldn’t touch when they stood outside for a moment but they shared a long look. “This is not what I wanted to happen on this evening,” Mycroft said quietly. “I'm glad you are so indulgent with me.”

“As I said: it's not your fault. I just hope… the past won't get us. All this hurt I caused you and this moment when I was sitting in the plane, thinking you've sent me on a death mission.” He wondered why he had just said this, opening the wound again.

“Oh God, Sherlock, no! I planned to get you out as soon as… Well, soon! I'd have never let anything happen to you.” He sounded completely stressed out and Sherlock cursed himself. He couldn’t dwell on this. It was past and Mycroft didn’t need this at all, lest right now.

“I'm glad to hear that. It's fine.” He had deserved it after all…

“No, it's not fine at all. I'm really a rubbish big brother…”

Sherlock smiled. “No, you're not. And I bet you're also a great lover.”

And then he winced when Mycroft embraced him and brushed a kiss onto his ear. “I'll be all you want me to be, Sherlock. You mean everything to me.” With this Mycroft pulled back. “I've got to go. I'll text you as soon as I know when I'm able to leave.”

“Alright. But don't worry – I'll be in your bed. If I sleep when you get home, wake me up.”

“I will.” With a smile he turned to leave. His office was only two streets away.

“Mycroft?”

“Yes?”

“You also mean everything to me.”

Mycroft looked as if he was about to cry. “Thank you, brother mine. I think that's a very good base to be happy together, despite all that happened. What do you say?”

“Yes, brother dear. I think so, too.” And he did. If this wasn't enough to overcome their past, he didn’t know what was…

*****

Sherlock lay awake for a long time despite being rather tired. Lying in Mycroft's generous bed after a hot shower, he stared at the ceiling. In the not completely dark room, thanks to the moonlight, he thought about it all – images flashed through his mind, of his childhood, safe with his parents and his big brother who would always watch over him, of Mycroft ripping him out of a drug den, of all those nasty remarks he had made about his brother's body even after he had lost a lot of weight and become the slim man he was now.

No matter how he had treated his brother - he had always admired Mycroft. And he had envied him – the smarter sibling, the successful one, the one who never struggled like he did. Who became more and more stiff and humourless, taking everything too seriously. When Sherlock pictured him now during all his adolescent- and post-adolescent life, he saw Mycroft towering over him like a smug, arrogant, admonishing figure, telling him to do better. But all Sherlock had wanted was to live up to his expectations, be more like him, make him proud of him, have him… The latter was so clear to him now. This had not just happened. He had fancied his brother forever, missing this fact due to his inexperience and his blindness towards his own desires.

He knew now why Mycroft had had to grow up so early. Eurus… With only twelve years, he had been Uncle Rudy's accomplice in hiding her fate from the Holmes parents. He had watched Sherlock to make sure he didn't suffer from Victor's death. Testing him whether he was about to remember anything… It was no wonder that Mycroft had been a rather serious teenager… Only once in a while, when they had fooled around a bit, making jokes, Mycroft had allowed himself to be young.

Could they overcome this? Because this was what really separated them from usual couples who met and got together. The Holmes brothers had a very long past. So much had happened, so much had stood between them for so long. Was it really possible to forget this, erase this, accept it at least as something that had happened and couldn't be changed? Was it possible to more or less start from zero to be lovers? Equals, in every way?

Yes, Sherlock decided. Absolutely yes. They needed to talk about a few things and then put them aside. They couldn't forget them, they at the very last. Some things couldn't be deleted. But all that had happened had made them the men they were now. And Sherlock loved his brother the way he was. Finally, after all his struggles with his natural authority, with his power and his strength, he could love him for all this and also for his weaknesses that had shown during the whole Eurus-affair.

Perhaps it was a sign that Sherlock had finally grown up – he could in the end love somebody with all his characteristics. And he would do everything to make it work. Absolutely everything…

*****

When Mycroft finally entered his bedroom after a quick shower and a shave and scrubbing his teeth, Sherlock was sound asleep. Mycroft looked at him for a long time without entering the bed. The almost full moon made him see his gorgeous brother, partly hidden by the blanket this time. He looked so vulnerable and peaceful.

His brother. His man.

He knew he should feel guilty. This was the man he had known since he'd been born. Mycroft had watched his mother change his nappies, put him in the little tub and wash him. Had held him on his lap.

Pretty, cute Sherlock, the happy child that had become an introverted, sulking boy after what had happened to Victor and Eurus. That had turned into an unbearable teenager, experimenting with everything and eventually with himself by taking drugs. That had stumbled from one danger into the other. That had wrecked his last nerve dozens of times. That had mocked him and hurt him and turned him away time after time.

Could they deal with each other now? Like lovers? Forgive and forget everything that had happened?

Yes, Mycroft decided. They could and they would. It was definitely worth it. He would not let Sherlock go again and he would make sure Sherlock wouldn’t want to go.

Mycroft knew that his loss would really break his heart…

“I can hear you think,” Sherlock startled him all at once. His eyes opened, fixating on Mycroft's.

“You do?”

“Come here.” Sherlock lifted the blanket.

Mycroft joined him on the bed and gasped when Sherlock pulled him over and wrapped the blanket around him. He had not pictured it like this.

“Stop struggling, brother,” Sherlock rumbled. “Lay your head on my chest.”

It was a strange feeling to do so. But of course the smooth, soft, deliciously smelling skin under his face was nothing to complain about. But…

“Give up control for a change. It helps. John did that with me.”

“He did?!”

Sherlock chuckled and squeezed his shoulder. “Not like that. He forced me to lie on his lap, on a pillow on his lap to be exact. Played therapist for me. The doctor knows best.”

Well, apparently John Watson did know a thing or two about Sherlock and him, Mycroft had to admit. And it did feel… comforting to be held by his brother's strong arms now after this day full of endless and most of the time fruitless discussions, searching for explanations and worry.

“That's a good boy,” Sherlock purred when he finally fully relaxed in his arms.

“Careful,” Mycroft mumbled but he smiled when he said it.

“Yes, that's what I am. Full of care for you.”

He had sounded so tender and earnest that Mycroft shivered. “Yes, brother mine, I notice. I'm sorry for earlier today and I'm sorry I couldn’t come back sooner.”

“Hush, big brother. I know. It's fine. We'll make time when we can.”

“I want you, Sherlock. But I'm too tired now…” He knew he would not get it up now…

“Later… perhaps we can get a bit tactile in the morning. Or when you are finished tomorrow. Listen… We need to talk about it. About the things that… happened before.”

“Yes, I know. We need to get over it.” Perhaps these would not be very nice conversations. But they needed to do it.

“Yes. Fresh start, My.”

“My? Your _what_?” He grinned when Sherlock pinched his ear.

“My love, my brother, my everything, just _My_. I know you hate your name being manhandled but… as a symbol of this fresh start?”

“Agreed. Then what am I supposed to call you?”

“Hm. What about… Lock?”

“Okay. If you can live with that.”

“I can. Of course… We could also use other expressions when we are alone.”

“Yes!” Mycroft snuggled even closer against Sherlock, breathing in his scent. “Honey! Sweetie! Cutie-pie!”

Sherlock chuckled again. “Not bad but perhaps a tad too much for the start. I rather thought of _love_ or _darling_.”

Mycroft kissed his throat. “You can call me whatever you like, Sher… Lock. As long as you don't call me…”

“No. Never. I'll never call you _Iceman_ again.”

Mycroft felt sleepy now. It had been such a long, awful day which had just become a million times better.

“Sleep now, love,” Sherlock mumbled.

“I'm so happy now, brother mine.”

A thumb circled tenderly on his back. “So am I. And tomorrow I want you to fuck me senseless.”

Mycroft grinned. “Now I love you even more.”

“It will work, won't it? This thing between us.” Sherlock sounded serious again.

He kissed Sherlock's throat again. “Yes, Lock. It will.”

*****

Sherlock buried his face in Mycroft's chest, inhaling him, enjoying the tickling of the hair on his lips and nose.

"Searching for mice?" Mycroft asked him and Sherlock grinned against his warm chest. He could feel his brother's heart beat in it a tad erratically.

"Yes. But they are too deep inside I guess." But then he found something else: a hard little nub, poking out of the jungle, crying for being licked at which Sherlock immediately did.

A gasp was the pleasant answer so he continued his exploration of Mycroft's obviously very sensitive nipple with his lips and tongue while he was twisting the other one carefully with two fingers. Something big and hard was poking into his thigh meanwhile and his own erection seemed to want to push through the mattress. He was very ready to making progress in their sexual relationship and there was little doubt that Mycroft was, too. It was still early enough so they had some time for it until Mycroft had to go to work.

They had woken up almost simultaneously. After sharing a _Good morning_ and a smile, they had gone to the bathroom hand in hand, soon brushing their teeth, shaving and taking a shower together while kissing almost constantly. They had drawn the line at peeing together and had done that one after the other beforehand. Sherlock assumed that at some point they would share this experience as well. And maybe a little more... Sherlock was very open to trying anything out if it pleased his brother.

His hand found Mycroft's huge erection now, sliding up and down on it, being rewarded by low moans and panting under him. His mouth moved up to Mycroft's throat that he kissed thoroughly before he captured his brother's hot mouth in an even hotter kiss.

Eventually he replaced his hand on Mycroft's cock with his mouth. He had fantasised about doing that ever since their first encounter, and he moaned in pleasure when he tasted another man's boner for the first time. The big appendage was silky, warm and pretty wet at the tip. Sherlock dipped his tongue into the slit, making more fluid pearling onto his tongue while hearing his brother hiss something very indecent. Sherlock grinned and carefully started sucking at the throbbing hardness, cataloguing the taste and the texture and Mycroft's verbal reaction. He loved it obviously and so did Sherlock. He let his right hand explore the heavy sack under Mycroft's dick, weighing it, stroking it and eventually cautiously pulling at it a bit. And this drove Mycroft over the edge, and he came while he was still warning Sherlock.

Sherlock had not come unprepared. He had read enough about taking come shots into the mouth to know that he had to close up his throat. Still the amount and the texture of his brother's semen made him gag a little but he managed to swallow it.

"God, Lock... You didn't need to do that..." He sounded a tad terrified but also pleased.

Sherlock grinned up to him. "Don't worry – if you can't do it, it's fine. But I kind of liked it."

"How's the taste?"

"Pretty strange," Sherlock admitted. "Nothing like anything else I ever had in my mouth. Bitter and somehow... cheesy. And it's thick and sticky."

"Oh, sounds delightful."

Sherlock lay down next to him again. "Wanna taste?" And with this he kissed Mycroft on the lips, offering him to invade his mouth to explore his own flavour.

Mycroft did it after a second of hesitation and the kiss lasted for a couple of minutes. Sherlock was still rock hard, rubbing his cock on Mycroft's thigh. "Yes. Pretty strange is the correct description," the older man stated. "Let's see if you taste the same way."

Sherlock lay on his back, spreading his legs so his brother could settle between them. With closed eyed he enjoyed the first blowjob that the British Government was giving to anyone while stroking Mycroft's hair and face and playing with his ear. Unsurprisingly, he did it very well and could soon experience Sherlock's unique flavour. He succeeded in swallowing the large amount of semen that a groaning detective had fed him with and shared the remains with his brother by kissing him as well.

"It's a little less bitter, isn't it?" Sherlock stated.

Mycroft settled on the pillow next to him. "Yes. I need to investigate how to make mine taste better."

"No need for that. I liked it. But I read that some sorts of fruit juice have an impact on the taste. Like pineapple."

"So I'm going to buy a few bottles. If I have a chance today."

Sherlock prepped up on his elbow and pinched his brother's long nose. "Another long day?"

Mycroft sighed. "I guess so. But no meeting in the evening so we can spend it together. If you like."

"Of course I do. And I'll get the juice; you don't have to bother with it. Not because you needed it..."

Mycroft smiled at him. "Anything to improve myself for you. That was awesome. Both taking and giving. Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me. The pleasure was on my side." They shared another long kiss before Mycroft gently slapped his arse.

"I better get going. Care for having breakfast together?"

"I'll make coffee."

"The miracles never end these days."

"Careful!"

They grinned at each other and then got out of bed. Reality was waiting.

*****

"And that's why only her husband could have killed her," Sherlock finished his explanations. They were standing in the living room of a posh house, a manhandled female body to their feet – Sherlock, John, Lestrade and DI Matt Cranshaw.

Instead of saying the expected ("Oh, that was awesome!" or "I would have never thought!") the two policemen just stared at him in a rather disturbing way.

"What?" Sherlock asked. "You didn't understand me?"

"Oh, I did," the older DI said. "What happened to you, Sherlock?"

He froze. "I have no idea what you mean."

"You've changed. Completely. It's as if..."

"As if you found someone who is not an idiot after all," Matt finished the sentence. He sounded a tad bitter even though he had been the first to admit that he and Sherlock would not make a good match!

"Yes," Lestrade said, his look boring into Sherlock's. "Who?"

Sherlock was so not prepared for this conversation. Or rather this assault... How could people who were not able to solve the stupidest crime so easily see that he was taken now?! And what was he supposed to say to that?!

"Hey guys," John interfered, laying a hand on Sherlock's arm. "Leave him alone, would you? Give him some privacy."

"Oh, I see," Matt mumbled.

But Lestrade shook his head. "Nah. It's not you, John, is it?"

John grinned mysteriously. "Privacy, Greg."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I don't ask you how you feel about your wife sleeping with..."

"Silence!" Lestrade burst out, his cheeks flushed. "You haven't changed as much as I thought..."

"Sorry, but you started with invading my... privacy."

"Yeah, that was rather stupid. Sorry. But... I just can't see anyone whom you would consider fitting for you." The grey-haired man narrowed his eyes and Sherlock saw something in them he didn't like at all. No... Lestrade couldn't guess that, could he?

"Anyway," John said calmly." The case is solved and I believe we should head back to Baker Street."

"Yes," Sherlock mumbled. "Mrs Hudson wanted to... make a cake for us."

"Oh, right, the cake!" John nodded. "We should dash now. Goodbye, guys."

Both policemen muttered a _Goodbye_ as well, and then Sherlock and John left the house.

John shook his head. "Fuck, Lestrade is smarter than I thought."

"And this from you, John?"

"You know what I mean. Seems he has a suspicion."

That was not what Sherlock wanted to hear. "What will he do? Observe me? And what if he finds out?"

"Relax, Sherlock. He's your friend. Maybe it would be better to not make remarks like this about his wife if you want him to remain your friend..."

"Yeah, I know... Bit not good… But..."

"Don't fret about it now. Talk to Mycroft."

Sherlock sighed. "He really has enough to worry about right now... But yeah. I'll see how he feels when we meet later on."

"So... Any news?" They had not had a chance to chat about Sherlock's time with his brother as the first client had popped up in Baker Street when Sherlock had only just arrived.

"Keen on details, John?"

"Oh, come on. It is fascinating."

"Because I have sex with my brother?" They had reached the main street and Sherlock started to look out for a cab.

"Well, because said brother is no other than Mycroft Holmes, the British Government!"

Sherlock grinned, feeling a little lighter. It was so nice that he could talk to John about it so openly. "We exchanged blowjobs this morning."

"Oh, wow... How was it?"

"Really exciting but pretty messy. It's not that easy if your mouth gets pumped full of sperm."

John shuddered. "Okay, that was a tad too much information..."

"You asked!"

"I know. And he did it, too? Swallow your..." He broke off with a wry grin.

"Yes. Mine tastes a bit more pleasant, we agreed. So that reminds me that I'll have to buy some bottles of pineapple juice before I head over to him."

John giggled. "That must have been an interesting conversation..."

"Oh, yes. But not as interesting as sucking his huge cock." Sherlock's dick got plump when he just thought about it. He wanted to repeat this as soon as possible. It had been a tremendously arousing experience. The damp, soft flesh, the little pearls of fluid dribbling out of the slit, licking him under his foreskin, feeling something so big in his throat, hearing Mycroft's reactions, seeing him satisfied and dishevelled… He definitely wanted more of that…

"Fuck, Sherlock. I'm so proud of you!"

"Because I started an incestuous relationship with my brother?"

John shook his head. "No. Because you are finally a complete human being."

"Some people would beg to differ." A lot of people actually…

"Some people can kiss my arse."

Sherlock grinned. This was the John Watson he had met all these years ago. His best friend.

John caught his gaze and they shared a smile before they headed into the cab that had just stopped in front of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for some angst :)

It was like magic. Like merging. Like becoming one person… All those silly phrases Sherlock had thought he would never use came to his mind when Mycroft was finally buried in him to the hilt and he lowered his head to kiss Sherlock while he was holding still otherwise.

“Are you alright?” he asked again, his gaze bored into Sherlock's.

“Yes, brother mine,” Sherlock brought out. “It's great.”

There was no way to describe it properly. There was pain and some sort of burn and he was feeling so… _full_ down there. He knew that in all probability there was a certain spot in his body that would react enthusiastically to Mycroft pumping into him (even though apparently not all men experienced it like this). So far Mycroft had not hit this spot as he had hardly thrust into his hole. He had taken his time with opening Sherlock up with his hands and lots of lubrication and even more time when he had started to penetrate him with something that was a lot bigger than two of his fingers. He had told Sherlock that if he didn’t like to be on bottom, they didn't have to do it, and that he would give it a try himself the next night.

But Sherlock was sure he would bottom a lot for his brother. Even if he didn’t have this magic spot in him. He wanted to give Mycroft exactly what he needed, and he loved to have a part of his body in his own. He had never felt a connection with the few guys he had had sex with before but now he knew what all the fuss was about. This was more than giving each other physical enjoyment – this was all about love. And he was very aroused by being connected to his brother in this most intimate way of all.

He melted into the kiss, his arms wrapped around Mycroft's neck, and just enjoyed this strange, fascinating experience.

Mycroft had managed to come home pretty early, and after dinner they had settled on the couch with a drink each and had talked for about two hours, arms slung around each other. They had not spared any inconvenient subject – Magnussen, Sherlock’s rudeness when he had thrown Mycroft out of his flat when they had talked about it, Irene, the death-mission, the clown and the dwarf, the diet-jokes, Eurus and so much more.  They had said what had been necessary to say and when they had been finished, Sherlock had felt so much lighter and he could see that his brother was feeling the same way. These things would not be between them anymore. They were part of their past which was unchangeable but they wouldn’t weigh down on them any longer. Of course it had been more unpleasant for Sherlock than for Mycroft as actually everything had been his fault with the only sore spot for Mycroft being the mission to Eastern Europe… But it had been clear that Mycroft had forgiven him his failures, being as generous as he had always been. Sherlock could hardly believe that he had felt so bad about his big brother for so long. Mycroft was in fact a wonderful person – completely decent, reliable, witty and sweet – as long as Sherlock was concerned.

Sherlock knew now that it would work. There was no place he wanted to be rather in than his brother's bed, heart and arms and eventually his butt.

“I love you, My,” he whispered and gently urged Mycroft to start moving his hips with his feet on his thighs.

“You're sure?”

“Of course I'm sure!” How could he still doubt that?!

Mycroft grinned and kissed his nose. “No, I meant – you're sure you want me to really take you now?”

“Oh, that. Yes, of course!”

“Alright. And I love you, too.” And after kissing once more, Mycroft started thrusting into him.

*****

Mycroft knew he would never forget this day. The in-depth conversation after dinner, Sherlock's honesty and openness and his trust for him. And now this – making love to or, more rudely put, fucking his little brother.

He knew that Sherlock was feeling pain; there was no way to avoid it. He had done his best to open him up thoroughly but anal sex was something one had to get used to. Well, he didn’t know that from first-hand experience of course but he'd had his share of men whom he had topped before.

When Sherlock urged him to move, he reassured himself that Sherlock was really up for it and Sherlock's love confession made his heart feel as warm as his dick was hard.

He had done this with men before but it had never meant anything. It had been fast sex to fulfil his rare physical needs and after that he had never seen them again or wasted a single thought on them.

This was everything.

He looked into Sherlock's eyes while he was taking him and inevitably, there was a sting of guilt. This was the little brother he had carried around and played with. And this was the man he loved and desired. The images flew into each other, confusing him, making him feel dirty. But then Sherlock smiled at him and said: “Don't you dare. This is how it has always been supposed to be.”

And Mycroft smiled back and pushed the guilt away. Sherlock was not a boy anymore. He wasn't even a weak drug user anymore. He was a strong man in every sense of the word. A man who knew exactly what he wanted and he wanted him. Mycroft wasn't abusing him or taking advantage; he did what they both needed and longed for so it was alright. He didn’t care about breaking a taboo. He did care about the law in a way, knowing nobody was allowed to find out. But this wouldn't keep him from doing this over and over again, and he was very determined to bottom for Sherlock as well. He would do anything for him and whatever he could to make him feel great.

And he felt like being ripped apart from arousal, love and care. And some sort of power. He was possessing his brother in a way nobody ever had and (he hoped) nobody ever would. Making him shiver and moan, making him stammer broken words when Mycroft eventually shifted his hips and managed to push against his prostate.

And then this moment – lightning exploding behind his eyes, an almost painful climax tearing him apart or so it seemed, releasing himself into Sherlock's body, making him come within seconds between their bodies as well.

Sherlock's stomach was covered with his semen but Mycroft didn’t care when he pulled his softening cock out to lie down on the younger man, being immediately embraced and stroked by his sweaty, happy, satisfied baby brother.

*****

Sherlock reluctantly rolled out of the bed but there was no way to ignore a full bladder if he didn’t want to add watersports to their mind-blowing sexual experience and he guessed it was a bit too early for that. He moved silently and carefully to not wake his brother.

After cuddling for a while despite the stickiness between them and the come dribbling out of Sherlock's arse, they had shared another shower and then gone to sleep. And now it wasn't even two o'clock and Sherlock was awake again. The full moon was shining in Mycroft's bedroom and Sherlock decided to try and close the curtains completely when he came back to bed.

He used the loo on the other side of the hallway to make as little noise as possible.

And when he had washed his hands and left the room, he heard something.

Somebody was in the house. Sherlock very carefully walked back to the chambers. He had not made light but he could see a dark figure – entering Mycroft's bedroom.

His pulse was racing. Who was that? Had Mycroft forgotten to set up the security systems? Yes. He had not activated them in his tired state of mind. Sherlock cursed. His mobile was in the bedroom. Of course he could have used the landline but the phone was downstairs and it would take way too much time. He had no idea what this person wanted. For a moment he had the strange thought that it was Lestrade. But of course it wasn't. He would never sneak into Mycroft's house to convict them. And the figure had been smaller and thinner than the DI.

While these thoughts were running through his mind, he had silently but quickly moved forward.

He was naked, he was unarmed but he would go in there so whoever this was would not be able to harm his brother.

Moriarty… No… The body type had been similar, yes. But he was dead for God's sake!

He had reached the bedroom door that was half open so he could see a man standing in front of the bed. And then he started to speak.

“Wake up, you bastard!”

A stranger's voice. No robber. Someone on a mission and not on a nice one. A young man, educated, insecure but determined and very dangerous.

Sherlock saw his brother blinking rapidly, looking confused and then terrified.

And he saw a gun in the young man's hand. And before he started to talk, Sherlock knew who he was.

“Who… who are you?” Mycroft obviously didn’t know it.

The intruder laughed in a nasty but desperate way. “You destroyed my life, my family's life, and you don't even know who I am? You don't give a fuck for other people, right?”

Sherlock moved forward, as silently as he could and he hoped Mycroft would keep calm and not give him away. His big brother was a very, very smart man, but he wasn't used to such situations in the least.

But Mycroft played along, not looking into Sherlock's direction. The sheets were crumpled but nothing could lead Lord Hamershon's younger son to expect that Mycroft wasn't alone. Sherlock's shoes were on the other side of the bed and so were his clothes, lying on the floor where Sherlock had dropped them.

“You killed my father!” the armed man burst out, and finally Mycroft understood.

“No,” he protested. “He was involved in serious crimes and saw no other way out than taking his life. We did all we could to keep it a secret and…”

“You killed him! And my mother will never recover from that!” the boy cried out and raised the gun, and Sherlock jumped.

In the moment his feet left the ground, Mycroft's gaze flickered and the boy either draw the right conclusion or heard Sherlock moving; in any way he turned around and fired.

“Sherlock!”

It all happened so fast but yet it seemed as if the world had come to a halt.

He didn’t even feel the pain in his upper arm; he knew it would come later.

He heard sirens coming closer and deduced that someone had seen the lord's son breaking into the house; the police would be there in a very short time.

He was naked. Naked in his brother's house.

He slapped the gun out of the boys hand and when he turned to flee, Sherlock slung his heal arm around his neck and twisted it. He could hear it break and let the dead boy go.

And then Sherlock fell onto the floor next to the corpse and Mycroft was holding him. “Oh God, Sherlock…” he whispered in a broken voice.

Sherlock could feel the blood getting pumped out of the shot-wound but this was not his priority now. “We need to tell the same story. And you must dress me. Give me a short-sleeved shirt. And help me into my trousers. Quick!” The sirens had almost reached the house.

“But…”

“Now, Mycroft!”

“He's dead?”

“Yes. Move! And listen to me!”

*****

“So… I didn’t have a choice. He was about to fire at me again.” Sherlock had told the story he and Mycroft had hastily agreed on in a rather indifferent way.

Lestrade nodded. “Yes. Clearly self-defence.” His look was calm but Sherlock could see that he knew that he was lying about a few things. But if Mycroft had told him the same story, and Sherlock had no doubt that he'd had, there was not much he could do. They were the only witnesses.

Mycroft wasn't in Sherlock's hospital room now. Lestrade had interrogated him separately when Sherlock had been in the operation theatre. He'd had a lot of luck that the shot had not done too much damage. He wouldn't be able to leave the hospital for the next few days though.

But that wasn't what bothered him so much.

He was terrified, fearing that Mycroft would leave him.

His brother knew that he had murdered this young man who had been desperate about the loss of his father and the fate of his family.

Yes, he had shot at Sherlock but it had been a reflex. Of course – he had come to murder Mycroft and not even Sherlock could say if he would have done it for real or not.

But he had not killed him because of that. He had disarmed him and the kid had tried to run away, not being a danger anymore.

But Mycroft had shouted out Sherlock's name. They had both been naked and the situation had been more than obvious. The police had almost been there.

Sherlock had not had a choice.

But would Mycroft see that? And would he blame himself for giving Sherlock away with his look and then calling him by his name?

He had seen his brother only quickly after the operation and only in the presence of a nurse. Sherlock had only read worry in Mycroft's blue eyes but then Sherlock had been off again.

“So… Mycroft asked you to stay over because he knew someone had followed him…” Lestrade said. At least he had come without Matt Cranshaw.

“Yes. He didn't tell anybody else, thinking he was being paranoid. But I decided to stay over, just in case.”

“And you both forgot to set up the alarm.”

This was a very weak point. “Yes. When Mycroft arrived at home, we started a rather heated conversation and neither of us thought of it.” There was no way to prove him wrong.

Sherlock was feeling dizzy and not only from the injury and the treatment. They'd had to act so quickly – getting him dressed without putting blood on the wrong spots, placing the gun closer to the corpse, agreeing about what the police had to get told by both of them. Mycroft was used to telling lies to actually everybody. He was sneaky and cold-blooded most of the time. But he had watched Sherlock kill once again, this time for the sake of their love. And Sherlock didn't know if he would ever forgive him for this.

Lestrade stood up. “I hope you'll be fine soon, Sherlock.” He paused and they stared at each other. “You know… I've always admired you. Not only for your brain and your skills; that goes without saying. But also for your unconditional loyalty and your will to protect the ones you love.”

Sherlock swallowed. His throat was too dry and he would ask for water as soon as the DI was gone.

“I know you always called yourself a high-functioning sociopath. Seems it is true indeed,” Lestrade continued.

Sherlock bit his lip.

“But only partly. I never met a sociopath who cared about anybody. Some were obsessed with people - mostly people they murdered later. But you have it both in you. Killing someone without any remorse and loving genuinely.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say to this. But it was clear that Lestrade knew about him and Mycroft, without a doubt, and he knew that Sherlock had not killed this young man in self-defence. And he seemed to accept it both. How could he? Because he, as he had said, admired him?

“I do care about a handful of people,” Sherlock finally broke the silence. “For some more than for others.”

“And there is nobody you care more about than your brother.” It wasn't a question.

“Yes,” Sherlock said quietly. “He's… my protector. Always was…”

“And now you protect him.”

Sherlock wondered for just a moment if Lestrade was carrying a bug. “I always do what has to be done,” he said, not giving anything away. “I'm glad I was there so this man couldn't kill Mycroft. He told you about the lord?”

“Yes. High above my clearance but he did. It's a tragic story.” He was watching Sherlock very closely.

“Yes. I didn’t like to do that. It was more a reflex than anything else. But I couldn’t risk anything. He was there to kill my brother.”

“I understand. Mycroft is very lucky.” And finally he smiled at Sherlock.

They had known each other for so long and Sherlock had always thought he knew everything about the older man. But Sherlock wouldn’t have expected that Lestrade would accept his forbidden relationship with Mycroft. He knew he couldn't convict Sherlock of being a murderer; Sherlock and Mycroft were way too smart for that. Even if Mycroft was struggling with what Sherlock had – again and this time for him – done, and Sherlock was pretty sure he was, he would have kept a mask of indifference in front of the inspector. And in the end the man had come indeed to shoot Mycroft for something he was not guilty of. He had searched his fate.

“Bye then, Sherlock. I'll come back visiting you tomorrow if I may?”

Sherlock smiled. “I would appreciate that. Bring me a case or two to keep me occupied.”

Lestrade smiled back. “I'll see what I can do. And now I’ll send your brother and John Watson in. I'm sure they are both waiting outside.”

*****

“How is he?” John was breathless when he came to a halt in front of Mycroft.

“He's okay I think. The doctor said the operation was successful and he'll recover soon.” Mycroft knew he sounded like a robot. The conversation with Lestrade had exhausted him only further. He had kept a straight face and told him the story he had agreed on with Sherlock. He wasn't sure if Lestrade had believed it. Well, in fact he was pretty certain he hadn't… But as long as Sherlock was telling him the same right now which he didn’t doubt. His brother was so calm and cool about having murdered someone… It made him shiver and feel sort of numb.

And John heard it, too. “What's up? What happened?” He dragged Mycroft to two plastic chairs away from the other people who were waiting in the big room.

“Oh, John…” Mycroft buried his face in his hands. “He… just killed him. He…”

“But he shot at him!”

“Yes. But in this moment he didn’t have the gun anymore…” Mycroft whispered, and then he stammered what had happened this night, trusting John to know it without even thinking about it. “I made him do it with my stupidity. I looked at him when he was about to overwhelm him. God, it's my fault that he got shot…”

And then he just broke down. How could he have not gotten that before? If he had kept his eyes on the lord's son, Sherlock would have tackled him and nothing would have happened. Of course – Sherlock would have still been naked in his house… But perhaps he would have knocked the boy out and just get dressed. It was his fault alone. And then Sherlock had to kill the boy because he would have given them away without even knowing it when the police would have interrogated him.

Sherlock had had no choice. Just like in the Magnussen-case.

Mycroft cried for the first time in ages, slumped down in the uncomfortable chair. And he winced when he was pulled against a strong chest.

“It's alright… I know how it is. He does these things and he does them without ever regretting them,” John mumbled into his hair. “He is strong. He won't break.”

“It's my fault…”

“No. You didn’t ask for being attacked by a confused kid who didn’t want to see that his father was a criminal that committed suicide. You're not used to such crazy, threatening situations; believe me, _I_ am; it's a side effect of living and working with Sherlock. But there is nothing to feel guilty about. It was this silly boy's choice to come to your house with a gun and probably kill you with it. I'm glad Sherlock wasn't seriously injured and you are fine.”

John's soothing, calm voice did have some impact on Mycroft. He sat up, blowing his nose with a tissue. “How was it for you? When he shot Magnussen?”

John sighed. “I was like – no, he can't have done that. But we brought ourselves in this stupid, no-way-back situation. You know, drugging you, stealing your laptop, going there thinking we could get a file that didn’t even exist…”

“It was all Sherlock's idea… He apologized for it last night…”

“Yes, of course it was his idea. But he did it for me. And for… Mary.” The doctor's face darkened for a moment. “I was terrified. How could he do that? But that's what he does, Mycroft. He protects the people he loves. And he felt he had to do it for your relationship and wasn't he right?”

“Yes, but… He can't run around like a one-man-army and just kill everybody who threatens him or someone who means something to him.” No matter how… no… He hadn't found this sexy, had he?!

“But that's Sherlock. He did it because he didn’t want to cause you trouble and because he didn't want to lose you. He loves you like crazy.”

“Because of your interference. Thank you, John.” That was probably not the right moment but it was long overdue.

John smiled. “I saw that you are clearly meant for each other. And you must see that, too. You need to love him the way he is.”

“Unpredictable? Reckless? Cold-blooded? Insane?” Hot as hell…

“Yes. That's all he is. And taking him like this is what true love is about.”

He had to think of his dead wife. She had been exactly the same way…

“I do love him more than I could even say.”

“Then there shouldn't be any problem.”

Mycroft huffed out a laugh.

John grimaced. “Alright. There are and there will be problems. But Lestrade already accepts your relationship.”

“He does what?!”

“Oops. Sherlock didn’t mention that?”

“No. What exactly did he not mention?”

And then he heard about the conversation with the two policemen and that John didn’t have a doubt that Lestrade had figured out who it was that had gotten Sherlock in the end.

“He would have told you about it I'm sure. He just thought you had too much to cope with. And it's fine. Greg likes him way more than Sherlock really knows.”

Mycroft couldn’t believe it was so easy. “Enough to let him get away with incest and murder?”

“Yes.”

Mycroft almost shot up from his chair when he saw the DI standing behind John. How could he be so fucking stupid?!

But Lestrade just looked at him calmly. “I choose to forget what I just heard. Did you say anything at all?”

“No, he didn’t,” John said. “Thank you, Greg.”

The DI nodded. “You can go in now. He's tired and will soon need rest but he burns to see you, Mycroft.”

John slapped Mycroft's arm. “Just go ahead. I'll wait until you're finished. And if he's too tired after it, I'll come back later. Just tell him then that I was here, okay?”

Mycroft nodded, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. “Yes, of course. Thank you. Both of you. For everything.”

He shared a smile with both men and then finally stood to stumble back to Sherlock's room.

“Be nice to him,” John said loudly.

Mycroft turned around. “Always. He's my everything.”

*****

Sherlock couldn't suppress a sigh when Mycroft entered the room, smiling cautiously at him. He looked shocked and shaken but the expression in his eyes told Sherlock at once that he wasn’t here to tell him he couldn’t be with Sherlock anymore.

“I'm sorry,” Sherlock said nonetheless.

Mycroft sat down on the bed. “You saved my life. Thank you.” He bent down to kiss Sherlock on the mouth and Sherlock greedily deepened the kiss, eager to feel his man and show him what he had done it all for.

It hadn't made him happy to kill again. He had simply not seen another way out. Again.

They kissed for a long while; Sherlock always concentrating on any noise from outside the room but he didn’t hear anything but silent and distant noises of people walking by.

Finally Mycroft pulled back. “John is outside. He won't let anyone in except for a nurse or a doc and I guess they are through with you for a while.”

“Yes. Guess my arm will be as good as new. But I'll be missing out on having sex with you for a few days.” There was a hint of a question in this sentence.

Mycroft smiled and stroked his cheek. “That's a shame but as soon as you are doing well, we'll make up for that thoroughly. And in the meantime I'll drink a few litres of pineapple juice.”

Sherlock smiled back, his heart a ball of warmth. “I was so afraid you would leave me.” They couldn't let this lie and pretend it had never happened. They had talked about all that had separated them for so long and Sherlock didn’t want to start with another weight on them now.

“I would never have. But it did shock me. You did that so easily.”

“I had to make a very quick decision. And… you know how I am… I don't feel like other people. Not for strangers and especially not for strangers that show up in your house in the middle of the night to kill you.”

“Yes. I know. And I understand it. Even Lestrade understands it.”

“What? Did he tell you he knows it?”

“Yes.” Mycroft sighed. “He overheard my conversation with John.”

Sherlock shook his head in awe after Mycroft had told him what had happened before. “Wow… I'm sorry by the way that I didn’t tell you that he apparently figured out whom I'm seeing. You were too tied up and then we talked about the nasty past and… I wanted to give you a break. It won't happen again…”

Mycroft took the hand of his uninjured arm. “I hope nobody else will get it. Like Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson or, God forbid, our parents.”

“That wouldn’t be very good,” Sherlock agreed. “But promise me that whatever happens, you won't leave me.”

Mycroft looked into his eyes and smiled, and Sherlock was almost overwhelmed with love for him. “I promise. This is forever, Lock. I do hope we'll never get into a situation like last night again though.”

“But if we do, be assured that I'm going to kill whomever is about to harm you or harm our love.”

Mycroft swallowed. “I know. And God… I love you for that.”

Sherlock was amazed. That's what Mycroft was so shocked about? Of course he had every reason to be alarmed and shaken about what Sherlock had done and what this man had done but Sherlock had not expected that… “Did it turn you on?”

“No! No. I mean… Fuck…”

Sherlock smiled. If there had been any doubt that Mycroft was the perfect man for him, it would have vanished right now. “Don't worry. I don't think we'll ever be in this situation again. But it's good to know that you like my dark side as well.”

“I love all your sides, Lock. But I don't want to see you in jail. Even my power has limits and I don't think Lestrade would let you get away with that again…”

Sherlock was rather sure that the DI wouldn't have done that anyway if he hadn't known that he would never be able to prove Sherlock's guilt. In the end he didn’t have _Sherlock_ to convict him… “I'll be a good boy whenever it's possible,” he assured his brother. “But if they ask for the bad boy to come out, he'll be ready to play.”

“I like bad boys.” Mycroft smiled and winked at him.

Sherlock chuckled. His arm was hurting, he had killed a man with his other arm but he was happy. He had all he wanted… “You do, huh? Would you like this bad boy to fuck you as soon as he's out of hospital?”

“I'll beg him for that.”

“Come here…” Sherlock pulled at Mycroft's shoulder and his brother moved over to him as close as he could and they kissed again.

“My perfect man,” Sherlock mumbled when they parted to take a breath. “My man. _My_.”

**The End**


End file.
